There’s something special about holding a book that someone cherished during his or her lifetime. Many years ago, I bought a set of old books at a bouquiniste (stand with used and antique books) in Paris. A 2nd edition of Les Misérables, in four separate books, pages worn from years of resting in someone’s hands. There were even old letters tucked inside, written to a young girl. From whom, I wondered? An aunt or grandmother, perhaps?  The book itself holds two stories: one of the author, and one of the reader. Some people prefer brand new books, but I prefer just about anything with a story. Late last summer, my…