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Sunday 2 January 2000

By 1am most of us have passed out under the laurel tree. Someone slaps a mosquito. Quiet groans come from the shadows deeper within the garden.

Inside the house the electric piano plays the first few bars of Fur Elise over and over again.

Down in the valley a security alarm woops for a few seconds then stops.

I wonder vaguely where the children are.

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