They do not celebrate birthdays; never in your life have you received a present on the tenth of December. Instead, you are given books on the days that their authors were born. It will be January 27, and a package will be waiting at the foot of the stairs, wrapped in bright paper. The note: “To my darling boy, on the occasion of Lewis Carroll’s 93rd birthday.” Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There.
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Rebecca Heneghan
