Still I remember how it was one summer when I was but a boy and my mother, a schoolteacher by trade, took me into the old Hood College library. I wandered among the stacks with an eye to the uncanny. Here, a book of essays by Francis Bacon. There, a ghost story by Shirley Jackson. Finally, when I thought I had enough, I left those shelves with my satchel of books under my arm looking for my mother. "Mother!" "Mother!" I called out. And then I could not seem to find my way out of there. I looked first one way and then another. Finally, I sank down to the floor with the books all around me.
"Why should I ever want to leave here?" I thought to myself. "This is paradise."
Just at that moment my mother poked her head around the corner.
"Ready to go now?" she asked.
I wasn't but I did leave though my heart stayed in many a tale behind me. This was the summer that made me what I am today. A lover of the well told volume of yesteryear.
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