The Directress was waiting. As always, her chestnut hair was swept up in a bun, a silver pen poised in her hand. Everyone knew of Miss Reeder. She wrote articles for newspapers and dazzled on the radio, inviting all to the Library—students, teachers, soldiers, foreigners, and French. She was adamant that there be a place here for everyone. “I’m Odile Souchet. Sorry to be late. I was early, and I opened a book…” “Reading is dangerous,” Miss Reeder said with a knowing smile. “Let’s go to my office.”
