"Shades of grey," Childermass repeats, just to be sure that he has heard the other man right. A popular work of fiction, written by a James, titled that? He should have known. Childermass lets out a long breath and raises a hand to run over his face, in an attempt to hide the fact that he may or may not be quietly laughing at the other man from him as best he can.

"Mr Norrell," he says, his voice slightly choked and certainly muffled, as it stands. "Whatever that man has told you about that book, you do not want me to be picking it up for you, and you certainly do not want to be reading it. It does not contain any long-lost magic or forgotten spells, believe me, sir."