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There’s a series of seven books I loved when I was a little girl. I read them to myself; being kind of precocious, I was 8, 9, maybe 10. A couple years ago, my life took a new turn: I became stepmother to an 8-year old, herself not yet a big reader, but an engaged and enthusiastic read-aloud-to-me person. I chose these books because I wanted to travel together to a wonderful world that just the two of us would share.