I have walked by stalls in the market-place where books, dog-eared and faded from their purple, have burst with a white hosanna. I have seen people crowned with a double crown, holding in either hand the crook and flail, the power and the glory. I have understood how the scar be­comes a star, I have felt the flake of fire fall, miraculous and pentecostal. My yesterdays walk with me. They keep step, they are grey faces that peer over my shoulder.

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.

Ralph ga pogleda bez riječi. Načas mu izađe pred oči slika ovdašnjih žalova neobično ljepote. Ali otok je izgorio kao suha drva - Simon je poginuo - a Jack je... Poteku mu suze i strese se od jecaja. Prvi put je dao na volju suzama otkako je na ovom otoku; sav se tresao od snažnih, drhtavih, bolnih grčeva. Glas mu je zaorio pod crnim dimom, pred tim spaljenim, uništenim otokom. Pod utjecajem njegovih osjećaja, i ostali dječaci počnu se tresti i jecati. Usred njih, onako prljav, raščupan i balav, Ralph je plakao za krajem nevinosti, plakao je zbog tame u ljudskom srcu, plakao je za mudrim, pravim prijateljem Pajcekom koji je odletio u zrak.