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Margie even wrote about it that night in her diary. On the page headed May 17, 2155, she wrote, 'Today Tommy found a real book."
It was a very old book. Margie's grandfather had heard about books like it when he was a little boy. He once said his grandfather had told them that there was a time when all stories were printed on paper.
They turned the pages, which were yellow. It was very funny to read the words. They stood still, instead of moving the way they were supposed to - on a screen, you know. And then, when they turned back to the page before, it had the same words on it. It was just the same as it had been when they read it the first time.
"Oh," said Tommy. "What a waste! When you're through with the book, you just throw it away, I guess. Our television screen must have had a million books on it, and it's good for many more. I wouldn't throw it away."
"Same with mine," said Margie. She was 11 and hadn't seen as many telebooks as Tommy had.
He was 13.
She said, 'Where did you find it?'
"In my house." He pointed without looking, because he was busy reading. "In the attic."
"What's it about?"


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