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Bookshelves like branches, I used to swing about my little library, plucking book after book to swallow down pages like tasty leaves in my big corner chair. My husband would chase me around, trying to get me to put them down, but his bright eyes were no match for those beautiful bindings, his small remarks no substitute for those tall tales in neat lines. One winter night, Gertrude Stein's Five ... read morewords in a line. set my brain whirring and scared my blood into a freeze till all I could do was sit with my books open all around me, searching for an alternative solution. All my husband said was, So? So? Easy peasy japanesey, even I could have written that.read less
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