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Grey-tongued, he braved sunlight and strangers until he reached the bookshop. Shelves and shelves of nothing. He had a pile of library books, five times renewed, and reservations just come in, but he wanted to buy. He wanted perfect corners and the smell of ink. He wanted papercuts, not words.

I spent all morning at the beach looking for two perfect shells that my mum could make into earrings. I got one straight away, so I thought I'd find another one quickly too, but then they were all broken or the wrong colour or had holes in. She