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Nothing chased nightmares away faster than the rustle of printed paper.
the way other people kept them, oh no! The books in Mo and Meggie’s house were stacked under tables, on chairs, in the corners of the rooms. There were books in the kitchen and books in the lavatory. Books on the TV set and in the wardrobe, small piles of books, tall piles of books, books thick and thin, books old and new. They welcomed Meggie down to breakfast with invitingly opened pages, they kept boredom at bay when the weather was bad. And sometimes you fell over them.
When I become a mother, I want my child to be entranced with books that we would keep so many of them and have a house filled with stacks of books everywhere.
You should be glad you look more like her than me,’ Mo always said. ‘My head wouldn’t look at all good on a girl’s neck.’ But Meggie wished she did look more like him. There wasn’t a face in the world she loved more
Never in movies, books, or songs have I ever seen a girl want to look like their father (as a thing of resemblence), but Meggie does because she loved him so much, that says a lot about a man. A father.
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