Gemotions

The musty smell of the secondhand bookshop did little to soothe Eleanor’s rising ire. She'd picked up a copy of *Pride and Prejudice*, hoping for a calming read, but the moment she’d opened it, a folded letter had tumbled out. And not just *any* letter; one addressed, in elegant script, to “Dearest Thomas.” Honestly! Did people have no respect? She slammed the book closed, the action a sharp crack in the quiet shop. This was a private thing, a secret, now she was privy to it. Her fingers itched to know.

Her jaw tightened as she scanned the room. The owner, a thin man with spectacles perched precariously on his nose, was humming to himself by the cash register. She stomped over, the worn floorboards groaning under her feet. "Excuse me!" she barked, her voice louder than intended. "I found this in a book. Is this standard practice now, inserting personal correspondence into your merchandise?"

The man, startled, nearly jumped out of his skin. He stammered a response, but Eleanor cut him off. "Well, I certainly won't be paying for this. It's highway robbery!"