In twelfth grade English class we were all passed out copies of Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. When the box finally arrived at my end of the spectrum [always the last due to my last name and alphabetical seating] the only book left had no cover. Needless to say, I enjoyed the text and felt bad for the little book, so I drew it a cover, laminated it with packing tape, and handed it back in, much to the puzzled amusement of my English teacher.
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