<strong>Emerald Anne Dante (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=148150.msg6716337#msg6716337)</strong><div class="floatright">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7lh74KUGg1qah1tao1_500.png)</div><br/><strong>Location</strong>: Brown University Library, APRIL 30, 1927, About 3PM<br/><br/>Emerald had studied the author, as best she could. Correspondence to literary agents in London, messages to the family shipping interests in Belfast and Manchester hiring men to collect information on James Howard Tentington. Son of a Fleet street printing magnate and something of a prodigy in printing, he had come up with a step forward in printing methodology that allowed for typeset to be used for three times normal lifespan by changing the metallic mix of the type. That was in 1908. Then he settled into writing a few articles and finally this book while helping his father run the family business till the beginning of the Big War. He had signed on as an officer in the infantry and had been killed in Gallipoli.<br/><br/>She flipped the book back to the frontispiece where there was a signature on the plate.<em>James Howard Tentington </em>It was a gift to one of the family's printing associates here in the US, who in turn donated the book to Brown when they started to run out of space in their copious library. She hoped the donation had been a mistake but given it's near pristine condition it was more likely the family never opened it after the book arrived.<br/><br/>Looking around carefully, she started undoing the long custom gloves she wore. The soft leather was as thin and supple as she could get made, and she had a dozen sets in similar fabrics that would match anything she wore. Rumor had made the circles that she was disgusted by touching others, some sort of phobia. It wasn't quite like that, dirt and gunk didn't offend her, she enjoyed living on her boat where she knew she could move free of the gloves.<br/><br/>The problem was her. She has this.. power in her. She had discovered it when she was running a hand over her great-grandfather's cavalry saber and seen the bloody duel that had end in him killing a political rival. She had been thirteen then and it had gotten worse. She had made the mistake of 'reading' the cufflinks her father had worn on his wedding night. That had been.. educational.. no one should see their parents in that light, she thought with a blush as she held her hand over the book.<br/><br/>This was the hard part, she reminded herself, touching and opening that door in her mind. To see the world in days past, through the eyes of others. She closed her eyes and ran her dainty fingers over the autograph as she opened her mind.<br/><br/><em>Show me.</em>She silently commanded the power within her. Odds were a treatise on fonts, typset and printing would be much more likely to be dull and safe, she would never do this with a journal or family bible.