This is the highly esteemed Slightly Foxed Books which was right around the corner from us, near the Gloucester Road tube stop. Book stores are legion in London, though they are still outnumbered by pubs. It is a comfortable ratio. And except for the ubiquitous W H Smiths at the airport, they each exude personality. Foxed Books is another reason why my lottery fantasy involves moving to London, as I will not be able to read the used books in Paris. Here I am completely at home, trolling the lightly worn Penguin volumes, revisiting my childhood with E. Nesbit, wondering if I am ever going to wade through Ulysses or just settling down for a nice afternoon curled up with Virginia Woolf. Bloomsbury it is. http://foxedbooks.com/