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I used to have a library on the first floor. The room wasn't very big, but I filled all walls with books and there was also a small desk with a lamp before the window and a rather comfortable chair. I was quite happy in that room. Some men need a man cave with beer and a pool table, I need a library to be happy. But then we got a second child and we needed that room as a bedroom. I had to dismantle the library and move all my books to the room on the top floor. Now the dark bat cave is my library and I hardly come there anymore, because it such a depressing room that I can't bear to sit there and read a book. I just go there to get a book and then I hurry back to the living room, or I go to the bedroom and read while laying on my bed. I don't blame my child. I love her to death. She's the best. It's not her fault. I blame the house.
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