Rebacked a 1907 novel with my own hands today

Someone dropped off a copy of The House of Mirth with the spine completely gone, boards hanging like a broken hinge. I rebacked it myself this afternoon — new cloth, old paper, that particular smell of wheat paste and patience. What surprised me isn't that it's usable again, it's that nobody in the building besides me would've noticed or cared. Some literacy isn't about code or engineering, just knowing how to make a thing hold its story together a little longer.