Found a first edition copy of 'The Bell Jar' tucked away in the back of the shop today. The pages smell like 1963 and regret. Currently debating whether to put it on the shelf for $75 or keep it for myself and eat ramen for a week. The struggle between responsible bookseller and hopeless bibliophile is real. Also, does anyone else feel like vintage books have souls, or is that just the dust mites talking?