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"
It
’
s
a
good
cry
,
"
said
Vimes
,
picking
his
words
with
care
.
"
But
I
’
d
be
grateful
if
you
’
d
warn
me
first
another
time
,
all
right
?
"
"
Certainly
,
sir
.
"
"
In
writing
,
I
think
.
"
The
Librarian
swung
on
.
It
was
slow
progress
,
because
there
were
things
he
wasn
’
t
keen
on
meeting
.
Creatures
evolve
to
fill
every
niche
in
the
environment
,
and
some
of
those
in
the
dusty
immensity
of
L
-
space
were
best
avoided
.
They
were
much
more
unusual
than
ordinary
unusual
creatures
.
Usually
he
could
forewarn
himself
by
keeping
a
careful
eye
on
the
kickstool
crabs
that
grazed
harmlessly
on
the
dust
.
When
they
were
spooked
,
it
was
time
to
hide
.
Several
times
he
had
to
flatten
himself
against
the
shelves
as
a
thesaurus
thundered
by
.
He
waited
patiently
as
a
herd
of
Critters
crawled
past
,
grazing
on
the
contents
of
the
choicer
books
and
leaving
behind
them
piles
of
small
slim
volumes
of
literary
criticism
.
And
there
were
other
things
,
things
which
he
hurried
away
from
and
tried
not
to
look
hard
at
.
.
.
And
you
had
to
avoid
cliches
at
all
costs
.
He
finished
the
last
of
his
peanuts
atop
a
stepladder
,
which
was
browsing
mindlessly
off
the
high
shelves
.
The
territory
definitely
had
a
familiar
feel
,
or
at
least
he
got
the
feeling
that
it
would
eventually
be
familiar
.
Time
had
a
different
meaning
in
L
-
space
.
There
were
shelves
whose
outline
he
felt
he
knew
.
The
book
titles
,
while
still
unreadable
,
held
a
tantalising
hint
of
legibility
.
Even
the
musty
air
had
a
smell
he
thought
he
recognised
.
