Chapter 22
The certification class passed in a blur. The materials were laid out with precision on each table, labeled and ready for use. Mary read the labels fascinated. Foam wedges, slender Teflon spades, and adjustable book cradles that looked like skeletal hands waiting to receive a treasure.
Ming’s lecture was interesting and filled with knowledge. He spoke of pH levels, of the acids in skin that could etch into cellulose over decades, of the reverence owed to silent paper. “Your hands are your most sensitive tools,” he said, his gaze sweeping the room. “Clean, careful, and conscious. The gloves you see in movies are for Hollywood, not for history.”
After the demonstration, he led them all to the small sink in the conservation annex. They washed their hands in unscented soap, drying them on lint-free towels, a …
