They had been the answer and the question, they had been entertainment and guidance, and they had been his friends. Now the books were walls, tightly packed into towering shelves, framing an endless path. When he came to a junction, he selected a volume to set down gently as his breadcrumb trail, but thereafter, at every divergence there was an identical book at his feet, whether or not he had placed it there.
Giles kept walking. He was in the realm of infinite knowledge, but not a single book here could tell him how to get out of the labyrinth.