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Spooky

The Lord of Flies

Perhaps this story will serve as one of those episodes of country life which my children often wheedle at. They have been studiously uninterested until now. But in the last year, after Monica finally left us, and after I have developed sympathetic and ominous signs, they tell me; for the grandchildren, to give them a sense of their history. They want this rural stuff as compost for their kids, to give them "roots", to help them grow more fully. Roots are for tearing away when proper ripeness has been reached. We have never been able to speak to each very much, my children and I. Their mother could better pretend. I do not know where this nostalgia for a period of time in which they never lived, for a place they never dwelt, might have come from. They also think that this record keeping will have a tonic effect on my mental state, so they encourage me to pic up my pen as one encourages a surly youth to keep a diary. They try and lamp me like a rabbit with pitying eyes.

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