An original, small-size Fawcett paperback, perhaps 40 years old but in fine shape. These later IB Singer stories are often marvelous. I will say that they tend to be sadder and even more despairing than some of his earlier work, less mystical, and a bit more focused on NYC than Poland. But his sense of humor and wisdom is fully intact. And there are a few true gems here.I am in the midst of devouring every word.