"I propose a swap, " I said. "You got this book for a handful of rupees and a copy of the Bible. I'll offer you the amount of my pension check, which I've just collected, and my black-letter Wiclif Bible. I inherited it from my ancestors."
"A black-letter Wiclif!" he murmured.
I went to my bedroom and brought him the money and the book. He turned the leaves and studied the title page with all the fervor of a true bibliophile.
"It's a deal," he said.
It amazed me that he did not haggle. Only later was I to realize that he had entered my house
with his mind made up to sell the book. Without counting the money, he put it away.
We talked about India, about Orkney, and about the Norwegian jarls who once ruled it. It was night when the man left. I have not seen him again, nor do I know his name.