We started out reading Sherlock Holmes, taking turns reading the stories to each other. Usually at night, before we turned out the light. Then it was Charles Dickens. And finally, Harry Potter — which was a stretch, but it worked out.
Chris landed in Chicago, flying over from Manchester, 3 July 2003 — 3,949.93 miles.
I had an extensive Holmes collection. The library supplied Dickens. Harry Potter, well there I’ll leave it to your own recollections, but somewhere in there she was reading way ahead of me, and bedtime was lights out.
We paged through Tolkien, her first time, my third, on our own. But we shared, enjoyed.
SPOILER ALERT: Holmes lives, Dumbledore dies, Gandalf..?
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Miracle is shorthand for Serendipity.