The library is quiet.
Quiet and calm and smells of paper and dust and y e s t e r d a y.
I find it quite pleasant.
The children are quite pleasant as well.
Though their literature, upon occasion, contains rather befuddling situations.
For example:
Is the more relevant question of the novel the rightfully desired consumption of questionably-
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Though I suppose that it's preferable.
(And understandably so.)
For those who haven't lost their appreciation for it.
I do remain uncertain as to what type of animal they are intended to be, precisely.
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For which one is which is never precisely as clear as one would initially anticipate.
I suppose it's a matter of taste.
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Especially with voices, darling.
But one still wonders.
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It's hard not to, after the first thought.
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I would read them in the rain. And in the dark. And on a train.
There are, after all, a relatively large number of locations offered.
[Both here and there.]Though I would prefer to leave out the abduction unless strictly necessary.
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They are rather well-suited for it.
Some are red and some are blue.
Some are old and some are new.
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These mortals once had purple catsup and I was intrigued enough to purchase some, but it was such a foul colour I could not make myself ingest it.
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Blues and reds. (But no greens. They make things look sickly. Even accompanied by boxes and foxes.)
Oh, and orange juice that wasn't orange would simply be unnatural.
No purples then either? In case?
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