An Interesting Cover There were two wrought-iron chairs in the park— more or less in the middle of the park. I sat down on one, pretending to be absorbed in the book I held in my hands. I was only looking at the pages.   I was only looking at the pages, but when a jogger paused, just long enough to ask me about the book, I gave it inordinate praise, and I held it up for her view.   Yes, I gave that book inordinate praise, although—if I speak the truth— the book was not even mine. I had…