She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. There was a second co-respondent. “Yeah. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. As a matter of fact I have been waiting for you. We'll get this chap on his feet if only to learn what the trouble is. She was making it up.
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