Mac’s headed off back to London; I’m headed back home. I’m exhausted.

He’s taken the books with him – the Marx, the Dickens, those volumes of the Illustrated London News. He’ll try them out with some of the antiquarian booksellers he knows in London, see if they can help any make sense of what’s happening here.

I’ve never seen him look like this. At first he was excited; then puzzled; now he’s downright shocked. And worried.

So am I.

What the heck is going on in this house?