Just as Blackwell was savoring Arthur's words, Arthur had already risen from the sofa.
He leaned on a beautifully carved cane. Although his black short hair was slightly tousled by the north wind, it matched the well-tailored black tailcoat that had just arrived yesterday, maintaining a noble demeanor as he walked among the rows of bookshelves.
The shop assistant, still yawning, was sorting out books that hadn't been placed back the night before, when suddenly he heard a mixed Russian-French accent in his ear.
Arthur's gaze swept around the shop with a hint of scrutiny: "I'm looking to buy some authentic Russian literature. Do you have any recommendations?"
The shop assistant was taken aback, first glancing at this unfamiliar gentleman. He was used to attending to middle-class scholars and the occasional wealthy young customer, thus had long developed a knack for assessing people.
