There is something about an old book. It has character, it has history, it smells great, the pages are yellow and if you are lucky you will even know the name of the person who once owned it. I read a lot of Enid Blyton as a child and I could not think of buying my children better books.
In about a year Keely will be reading herself, but for now I love having her curled up in my lap and listening to me read.
To Wendy from Jane, 1976