While other children spent hour after hour combing Exmouth beach for buried treasure, Edmund found it everywhere he looked. Broken bottles, chip forks, crumpled pieces of newspaper – everything seemed to be whispering to him, begging to be picked up.
He kicked at the ground with his big toe, dislodging a weathered bottle top as the waves swallowed up another inch or two of wet sand, swelling in towards the line of whitewashed houses. Another one for the blue pile, he thought, tucking it into his satchel and wondering how other people ever managed to throw things away without a second thought.
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