I sometimes take it for granted that everyone loves reading (and books) the same way that I do; that they all share the excitement that comes with choosing, smelling (yes, I smell my books) and buying them. The sheer enjoyment of browsing round a bookstore for hours on end; the thrill of starting a new journey into the unknown, and the excitement of knowing that when all duties required for the day are complete, continuing reading. Then there is the mix of joy, sadness and the return to reality that is felt when you close a book for the final time, only to discover that the real world has continued turning whilst you were engrossed.
Not everyone does read though, and they can come up with some pretty creative excuses to explain away the reason they don’t. They could be too tired after a long day or, and this seems…
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