As a child I used to love meeting my “foreign” aunt. She was nice, of course, but even nicer was her bulging suitcase containing myriad gifts – everything from perfume bottles and handy kitchen accessories, to much coveted little knick-knacks that we could flaunt the next day at school. I specially remember loving the little, pristine-white erasers she used to bring for us – smooth and smelling of roses – they were a big improvement over the local ones that made the paper all black.
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