Ah, yes: regret. Truly, the dismaying reality of bibliomania is often ignored. One lolls, spent and debauched, in the tattered armchair. All about are the piles, books that seemed so necessary at the time, fussed over, coddled, ferried home. And for what?

But the habit must be fed, and any hit will do. Thank heavens for the public library, the clean-needle exchange program for literati.

I too indulge in the library, getting myself drunk on various tomes, reading a chapter or two, and taking them back without the sense of sadness that sometimes accompanies the booklover when he looks at all his unread books and wonders why he is the way he is.