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He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.
Nobody knows what Jonjo knows. Nobody knows but he,So Jonjo took me for a walk and showed his world to me.
All you see is outside me: my painted smile,the rosy-posy shell, the fluttery eyes.A butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth-type me