Ah, Lord of the Flies. An untimely classic.
Three flies for the shady guys in bowties.
Seven for the midgets, all each other's clone.
Nine for clowns over whom the baby cries.
One for the fat guy who came in alone.
...well, something like that anyway.
Incidentally, I started in Moby Dick and drifted over to Stephen King's The Waste Lands. I've been re-reading the Dark Tower series after I found out the next volume's set for June
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