saint of drowned sailors

[ID: One of these days we're going to get outside. We'll take off your shoes and listen to the wind chimes in the garden. The dust of vanished jet planes will be a glaze around the street lamps. The little star of Karl Marx will light a corner of the vault. We'll lie beside the shed mingling our conversation with the soft round noise of the neighbour's doves. Adam's father will be feeling better. So will Adam's mother. Our rugged life in the back yard is about to begin. We're going to dig a lily pond if we can get outside. You can see us in our chairs now, immensely attractive and paralysed. There we are reflected in the windows of the room. We'd weep over the story you could tell about us. You'd be so pleased to meet people who do not wish to govern you. /end ID.]

“what if the house was haunted” what if the house WASNT haunted. what if your continual presence there is what corrupts. what if you are what haunts this house