Denton's shop iooks as though it came straight out of a previous era, partly because he is ancient himself, at least 130 years old. At the moment, he was standing behind a wood and glass counter and giving us a smile. Denton is a big man, a little fat, but with muscles underneath the white hair on his arms, bald on top but with chinwhiskers like Santa Claus. He was smoking an old-fashioned tobacco cigarette. He makes them himself, and probably gets more income from peddling his own brand than from all the other herbs, talismans, and grimoires that fill his shop. Speaking of grimoires, Denton does have hundreds of real twentieth-century books if you ever feel like reading.