We don't exactly know this journey by heart though. You take a wrong turn, the hedgerows start thinning, and you find yourself heading out into a mangy flatland of featureless, dun-coloured open fields. It's a diseased landscape, scabby, fly-blown.

     And we're fading. We're becoming a line drawing, clean and delicate. A pencil draft, simple, light grey, almost transparent...

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