Read the passage from Lord of the Flies by William Golding.They set off again, the hunters bunched a little by fear of the mentioned beast, while Jack quested ahead. . . . Ralph leaned against a tree and at once the daydreams started swarming up. Jack was in charge of the hunt and there would be time to get to the mountain—Once, following his father from Chatham to Devonport, they had lived in a cottage on the edge of the moors. . . .When you went to bed there was a bowl of cornflakes with sugar and cream. And the books—they stood on the shelf by the bed, leaning together with always two or three laid flat on top because he had not bothered to put them back properly. They were dog-eared and scratched. There was the bright, shining one about Topsy and Mopsy that he never read because it was about two girls; there was the one about the magician, which you read with a kind of tied-down terror, skipping page twenty-seven with the awful picture of the spider; there was a book about people who had dug things up, Egyptian things; there was The Boy’s Book of Trains, The Boy’s Book of Ships. Vividly they came before him; he could have reached up and touched them, could feel the weight and slow slide with which The Mammoth Book for Boys would come out and slither down . . . Everything was all right; everything was good-humored and friendly.