How would you interpret this phrase “golden store”?
His life was a marvel, whether he knew that or didn’t. His way of seeing a cat in a cold wind, or skeletons pressed flat in the dust. A dead fish thrown in the kitchen slop pail. He could cry for about anything and give it a decent burial. He was so afraid of living, yet live he did. That’s a monument. He wrote about those who came before, giving flesh to their cares. He was driven to it.
Now I do the same for him. Even knowing, as I do, how everyone makes firewood from the fallen tree. The professors like to hunt out some sin of Shakespeare himself, and pass that off as the golden store of the learned. I couldn’t bear this to touch Mr. Shepherd, or his loved ones or even children, if such a thing has now come to pass. I want time for him. All the paint washed off, bare limestone revealed.
How would you interpret this phrase “golden store” in the third sentence of the second paragraph?
Thanks. And this excerpt is taken from The Lacuna by Kingsolver.