Liston looked over the other books on the desk. None had anything to do with pharmacology; they were all older, more obscure works on human anatomy.
After Human Anatomy came out, these more ancient, poorly evidenced works gradually disappeared from the academies. They could still be found in the collections of the older generation, but only as artifacts of their time, rarely used for reference or discussion.
The oldest book looked old enough to have belonged to Liston's grandfather. Its pages had yellowed and grown brittle, and one nearly snapped as he turned it. He had to lift each page gently and slide his palm evenly beneath it to turn to the next.
Of these books, this one was actually the closest to the truth. Its contents were rigorous and orderly, and even this section alone resembled Human Anatomy, lacking only some final practical proof. Strangely, Liston had never heard of such an excellent book.
The frontispiece showed it was from the collection of Dunling University. It might even be the only copy. Though it had lost its practical value, it was still a landmark work. Such a precious book left open on a desk—wasn't that careless?
After all, once the materials had aged, the book's own weight could damage its spine when left open, warping and cracking it and causing the cover and pages to shift. Restoring it would spoil its original form; left alone, it would eventually fall apart.
With a pang, Liston closed it. He meant to let the spine rest for a while, then return it to its original place before leaving. It was little more than a way to comfort himself, but at least he hadn't stood by and watched an important text get damaged without doing anything.
As the last page fell into place,