Books were a dependable pleasure. I read more then than I ever was able to read again until now when I am too old to work much and am mostly alone. Back then I read books that Bess and Auntie loaned to me and books from Mr. Feltner’s mother’s library that was still in her bookcases in the living room. She had been a reader like Bess and Auntie and had bought good books—classics, some of them: Mark Twain’s river books and The Scarlet Letter and several thick novels by Sir Walter Scott and Dickens. I read Old Mortality and thought more than I wanted to of the horrible deeds people have done
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