Staff filed in, one by one. Bitsi bit her lip. Boris frowned. Miss Wedd had twelve pencils in her bun. I pulled The Dreamers from Miss Reeder’s shelf. I needed something to hold on to. I didn’t have to turn the pages to know what was written: “This book is a map, each chapter a journey. Sometimes the way is dark, sometimes it leads us to the light. I’m afraid of where we’re going.” “Well?” Bitsi said. “What did ‘the Library Protector’ say?” “We must take forty works from our shelves,” Margaret replied. On the list: Ernest Hemingway, who’d written for our newsletter, and William Shirer, who
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