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59
But Home Is
No More
him. He feels trapped, encircled, with a wave of bustling people
moving in and around him. Crushing him and drowning him,
claiming him as their own. There’s no grass or fields or trees, only
harsh, frightening blacks and greys.
‘
And somewhere else entirely, the brand new owners of an old
weatherboard house paint over a wooden doorframe with two
horizontal black lines and the last physical traces of a young boy
disappear forever.
‘
9