I swear I am not snooping. My granddaughter Charlotte leaves her essays open on my computer, and when I log on there they are, big as life, right in front of me. How can I not read them? Her essays, FYI, are not a private diary. They are part of…
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They aren't even mine. I inherited them. They came with my husband not on the day we were married but not long after, a set of encyclopedias, which had lived in his bedroom when he was growing up. "Take them," his mother must have said.
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