The transfer mark was there.
I kept my finger beside the entry while I took the household citation out of its stiff covers. The academy's book had a different arrangement and a narrower column, but the joined stroke was unmistakable. I had drawn it badly, watched the archive keeper correct it, then watched the records clerk copy it. Here it was again, in ink laid down long before I arrived.
I compared the rest before allowing myself to believe I had found the right line.
The columns encouraged me to read straight across. The household copy had given each part of the entry more room; here one line continued below the mark, and I had to go back to its beginning to make sure I hadn't borrowed something from the entry above.
I moved the citation nearer. Its stiff cover touched the edge of the book support, and I shifted it before it could push against the page. There was plenty of table. I was using a very small part of it.
