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The daylight’s waning, morning brings with it a crisp chill. In recent weeks I’ve gravitated toward suitably late-summer books—moody depictions of an upper crust filled with cracks that play out post Dog Days—as though clinging onto summer even as fall beats at the door. But despite Memorial Day and Labor Day serving as the season’s accepted bookends, astronomical markers say we’ve still got three weeks left. Summer reading forever.
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