When I was young, I knew someone in school, a very plump, tanned girl in the eighth grade, with thick glasses and oily braids. She was quite a bookworm and kept to herself – even during lunchtime. She was a good student, excelling in English, Biology and Art. Her library reading was, however, considered ‘quaint’ by her classmates as she read autobiographies, classics, historical fiction, travelogues, and Greek, Roman, and Nordic mythology, while her peers reveled in pop adult romances and murder...
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