There was one more chapter to apply, the one on Autoerasure. That required careful planning, carefully thought-out suggestions. When she had completed all she had ordered herself to do she threw the book into the furnace and watched it burn, stirring the fragments to make sure that it was completely consumed.
All was forgotten. All was fine. Nothing had ever happened.
A few weeks later there came a postcard. "Dear Madam," it read. "The book, The Perfect Hostess, by Wilhelmina Hoskins, which is charged to your card, is now two weeks overdue. Please return it at your earliest convenience. There is a charge of one cent for each day overdue."
What on earth were they talking about? Carrie wondered vaguely. She hadn't been to the library in months. "James," she called, "Did you ever get me a library book called The Perfect Hostess?"
"Gosh, no, Mom," said James.