Last summer, while visiting in New York City, I wanted to visit a bookstore I knew well and had visited regularly while living in New York City. I had purchased many books from Mary. She did not carry my books. In fact I doubt if she ever knew I wrote one. The lady was not interested in what the books contained, only in the profit they would provide. Whenever she noticed I was looking at a book, the moment I put it back on the shelf she removed it and changed the price. I know, for I have seen her do it. When I told a friend that I was going to the bookstore he said, “Haven’t you heard? Mary was killed last month and there is no more metaphysical library.”70 ¶6