We went to the butterfly farm in Stratford. Noah, you spent the whole time running around, literally screaming with excitement. I calmed you down and one point and very solemnly knelt down next to you, cuddling you with one arm and pointing to some butterfly wings on the floor. I said, "Noah," what do you suppose it is? You answered, pretty nonchalantly, almost with a shrug of the shoulders:
"It's dead, daddy."
Eventually, your mummy took the pushchair with Scout in it out. We were terrified we were going to cook you, Scout.
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