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The kid standing at the front door was nervous. Big blue eyes shining out from under a shock of ginger hair, he stepped forward. He was 12 years old, maybe.
“Excuse me, suh,” he said gripping his hat in both hands, “Can ye come out ‘n play, maybe?”
His name was Richard. His words were dipped in good East Anglian treacle, and the way he said them with such fresh innocence was endearing to a fellow twice his age.
Could I what? Come out and play?
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