– Может, – решился он наконец, – может, зверь этот и есть. – Саймон – ты? И ты в это веришь? – То есть… может… ну… это мы сами. - William Golding

They were black and iridescent green and without number; and in front of Simon, the Lord of the Flies hung on his stick and grinned. At last Simon gave up and looked back; saw the white teeth and dim eyes, the blood — and his gaze was held by that ancient, inescapable recognition. In Simon’s right temple, a pulse began to beat on the brain.

They walked along, two continents of experience and feeling unable to communicate.

The candle-buds opened their wide white flowers... Their scent spilled out into the air and took possession of the island.