Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery
It’s the kind of romance that makes you want to put on a floor-length cotton nightie just so you can take it off later. The itchy kind. Before you take off your glasses and climb into bed, you sip on a glass of grape juice that tastes strongly of tannin and the experimentations of youth. Somewhere in the mix is a classic Canadian love triangle and now you finally understand what bosom buddies really means. You leave with your socks still on and paddle back home down the river, hoping you make it before your heart–or something else–springs a leak.
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