"The Green Leaves of Summer" has to be shelved. Indefinitely. Until I can come up with a way how to read it without the smell ( still figuring out what kind it is) getting up my nose. I've tired reading it from a bit further away than usual. Plus ( I must confess) the story line isn't as enticing as it promised to be. Although what possessed me to believe so firmly in the idea of it being a treasure I cannot say. A lapse in judgement. And now, I'm left with an old book which reeks of years of dirt and dust lying on the dining table waiting for its fate. I think I may be allergic to it. Eeek!
This frustration led to "A funny thing about love" by Rebecca Farnworth. Picked up two days back. It smells of new-ness which is something I never thought I'ld admit to liking a little bit more than usual. And so for the next week, I think I deserve a pong-free-read.
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