Sudhir Dalal

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Carefully she took the paper off to find a secondhand Webster’s dictionary. “Oh, Tate, thank you.” “Look inside,” he said. Tucked in the P section was a pelican feather, forget-me-not blossoms pressed between two pages of the Fs, a dried mushroom under M. So many treasures were stashed among the pages, the book would not completely close.
Where the Crawdads Sing
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