As an English major, I grow rather attached to my books. I don't know how it happens--despite my many years of letting go--I am still gripped by the impulse to hold on, to keep, to preserve. But I had to sell the superfluities of my shelf to the bookstores today, and I am the lonelier for it. One day I'll have a library of my own, with first editions and a fireplace and a plush armchair next to it and a globe and a secret passage in one corner that leads to the kitchen.
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