I'm Wondering What To Read Next.

Grown Ups Are Complicated Creatures, Full Of Quirks And Secrets.

I Am Only 8 Years Old, I Told Myself. No Little Boy Of 8 Has Ever Murdered Anyone. It's Not Possible.

But There Was One Other Thing That The Grown-ups Also Knew, And It Was This: That However Small The Chance Might Be Of Striking Lucky, The Chance Is There. The Chance Had To Be There.

I Go Down To My Little Hut, Where It's Tight And Dark And Warm, And Within Minutes I Can Go Back To Being Six Or Seven Or Eight Again.

I've Always Said To Myself That If A Little Pocket Calculator Can Do It Why Shouldn't I?