1. The muffled woo-wooing and dull thundering of John playing with Lily on the floor below.
2. The single fat icicle smeared across the greenhouse glass. Then later, the many slim ones hanging from the porch’s gutter.
3. Lines of iambic pentameter mix with laughter – jokes from the text and from all around us too.
3b. The little boy watches on as the lads practise their words. He looks slightly shell-shocked — today hasn’t gone as he thought it would — but I also wonder if he’s not a little awed too: listening to the strange language flowing beautifully from their tongues and seeing himself doing the same in just a few years time.
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