Out of the swirling mist

I have just finished reading The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, which fully lived up to its reputation. (I believe I am the last person in the English-speaking world to read it.) I laughed, I cried, and I bit my nails in between.

What I really need, though, is someone to stop by my house every afternoon and impersonate my mother. Grab the book from my hand, hide it, and tell me I can have it back when my work is done.

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