...came to the door last night bearing gifts of wildflowers and buns.
(I kept calling them muffins or cupcakes, but I was quickly and
repeatedly corrected: buns. B-U-N-S. [Elizabeth spelled it for me.])
Their family owns the holiday house next door, and they come over
from Drougheda (near Dublin). No, they are not twins, and are
exhausted by that question, although they are just over a year
apart. They have a four-year-old brother and a baby sister. I've often
watched them fishing for mullets with their father Peter.
(The first time I saw them they were a blur of pink across the cove.)
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