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Diary

by Joanne Grenfell

Murder most fowl
It was carnage on Manor Lane. “Mummy, we had a fox in our garden last night,” said Samuel, as I roused myself from a warm duvet to find him and James standing at the bottom of the bed, with a tray of tea and milk.

“That’s nice, darling,” I murmured absent-mindedly.

“But Mummy,” he said, more insistently this time, “the chickens have dived.”

I sat bolt upright and looked at James, ...

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