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here’s something on top of the mountain, I won’t tell
what it is . . . There’s something on top of the
mountain, I won’t tell what it is . . .
I touched my head, tousled my hair; there was nothing. She
continued laughing. The child’s voice rang out in the valley.
“There’s nothing. You’re lying.”
“Yes, there is. I’m not.”
“Then, what’s that?”
“I won’t tell you . . . You have to guess. There’s something
on top of the mountain, I won’t tell what it is . . .”
I rushed and caught her, held her firmly, and we rolled on
the grass. She laughed and her giggling deafened me.
“I won’t tell . . . I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
“No, I won’t.”
T