While I didn't look at the book after that, the key became a luck peice. I got a long chain and wore it around my neck. Sometimes, when I had a moment, I would take it out and look at it, examineing the prongs, or the curve at the top. Sometimes, I would think about the book it came with, and make up my mind to read it.
But by the time I got to it, I had lost intrest again.
Somehow, and it seems strange to me now, I never mentioned the small grimorie to anyone, even Henry.
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a little brown book
finding the life of Alexander Shaw, a kind of serial story.
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