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The Garden of Remembrance.  

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The Garden of Remembrance Emma Thompsell I spent much of my childhood in a tree. Our garden was big and if you ran down the path, avoiding the wolves that lived next door you were very safe, isolated from the outside world by soaring bushes, their leaves cool to the touch. A huge mulberry bush grew by the lawn, its branches making a woven screen. With little difficulty, it was possible to enter a clearing inside the bush, and eat the juicy fruit, the juice running down your chin, and staining indelibly your clothes. On the lawn were rings of mushrooms where the fairies held their council, of which I always dreamed of being a member. Beads of dew formed on the long grass, lanterns the fairies had left behind. To the left of the lawn was a wall, and an archway entrance. It was a deserted castle of which I...

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