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Isabel remembered what books had meant to her so long ago, and she suddenly had a longing for all those fictional worlds that had helped her through the worst years of her life.
“A lot of people don’t know what to do about grief. I don’t blame you for a thing.”
‘A writer is, after all, only half his book. The other half is the reader and from the reader the writer learns.’”
She was remembering everything. How love could change a person, how it could cause you the greatest sorrow or shelter you from harm.
