A customer noticed that I was reading Bill Bryson’s “At Home: A Short History of Private Life” the other day. He tried to buy it from me. I told him to come back in 75 pages. Good thing, too. Otherwise I would not have learned that Dante Gabriel Rossetti was so overcome with the death of his wife, Elizbeth Siddal, that he buried her with a sheaf of poems he had written but failed to copy. Years later, he thought better of the gesture, had the grave dug up, and retrieved and published the poems.