pardon the mold and dust

I found a ton of classic... for some definition of classic... Old Skool romances at a library sale, and as always, am really curious about the backstory of how they got there, since it was clearly someone's once much-loved collection. Did they die? Get widowed? Discover feminism? I've heard from a number of people that losing a husband destroyed their ability to enjoy romances, and Eva Ibbotson stopped writing them after her husband died. (Romance's loss is children's book's gain.)

There's something very poignant about reading these old books, which are so horribly dated now, yet have had such strong appeal to countless readers. It feels a little like stepping into a time machine and living in someone else's past.