A great novel can make your legs hurt

A great novel can make your legs hurt. If you had the silly idea of booking your copy at a shop far from your home, because it has a midnight opening, you have to leave your home before eleven at night and stand around for a long time waiting for a rare night bus. The night bus does not decant you near your destination, however, but only in the very general vicinity - meaning a couple of miles away. Instead of waiting for another rare night bus, you may then decide to walk the rest of the way. And if, when you get to the shop, you find a queue the length of the nearest two blocks, you must not have the bad idea to stand around and observe. You will be discouraged. You may then take a further walk to kill some time, during which you observe that another branch of the same bookstore is even more besieged. Then you may come back and stand in the queue again for a good half hour. Then, having obtained your copy, you may have to walk back another couple of miles - with your legs already exhausted from all the walking and queueing - and stand around again for half an hour, waiting for yet another rare night bus.

That is how a great novel can make your legs hurt.