Though Niall was a rogue and a fiend, the Lynches were rich. Niall Lynch was a braggart poet, a loser musician, a charming bit of hard luck bred in Belfast but born in Cumbria, and Ronan loved him like he loved nothing else. Ronan Lynch lived with every sort of secret. Secrets and cockroaches - that’s what will be left at the end of it all. We’re keepers or keptfrom, players or played. It is too strange, too vast, too terrifying to contemplate.Īll of us have secrets in our lives. Sometimes, some rare times, a secret stays undiscovered because it is something too big for the mind to hold. Or maybe it is a useless mystery, arcane and lonely, unfound because no one ever looked for it. Perhaps it was known once, but was taken to the grave. Every day, thousands of confessions are kept from their would-be confessors, none of these people knowing that their never-admitted secrets all boil down to the same three words: I am afraid.Īnd then there is the third kind of secret, the most hidden kind. The second is a harder kind of secret: one you keep from yourself. One is the sort everyone knows about, the sort you need at least two people for.
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