He stopped reading when he got to chapter 12.
Contemplating for a moment he came to the conclusion that it was a very good novel indeed.
He had purposely finished reading early this evening as he wished to stretch out his enjoyment of it as long as possible.
He placed his reading glasses onto the closed book and leaned over and switched off the bedside lamp.
As he lay in bed he could see that the orange light from the street lamp directly opposite his tiny one bedroom flat cast a shadow through his sash window onto his ceiling. The shape formed by the shadow reminded him of a girl he had been passionately in love with as a young man.
A great sense of sadness came with this recollection, as he reflected on the heartache this brief liaison had caused him.
With a heavy sigh he slowly let himself slip into unconsciousness with the hope that he may tonight dream of her again.
After a long, mostly blameless life the elderly man from Wigan died in his sleep. He did not dream of his lost love.
He left no legacy other than two grandchildren neither of which could remember the old mans first name.
The novel he was reading that last night was sent along with the majority of the possessions he had amassed over the years to a local charity shop, where it was sold to a sexually repressed teenage boy for £1.50.
The boy also read the novel up to chapter 12 before he left it along with a packed lunch on the train into Birmingham town centre on a hot and busy Summer Saturday morning.
What happened to the novel after that no one knows.