““In previous years, they might have spent hours in the cellar, on their feet, never seeing the time go by nor feeling their legs, and they would go back upstairs at closing time enthralled, radiant, a bit drunk, and there were more and more of them who, when they got back to Paris or Basel, would tell those around them, 'I only ever buy my books in Meribel now, once a year; obviously I've had to change my suitcase (my car / my leisure time / my life)' . . . .””
