When we were children, my siblings and I regularly spent our pocket money on new books. Our mother had instilled in us a passionate love for books. Reading wasn’t just a hobby; it was a way of living.
I still remember the day our parents surprised us with a home library. It was a tall and wide piece of furniture with lots of shelves that they had placed in the living room. I was just five years old, but I recognised the sacredness of its corner from the very first moment.
My father was…
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