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318 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1988
Before he had a chance to do more than look around, a man with a little pointed gray beard stepped up to him and took the striped scarf away. “He won’t be needing this,” he said, rather shocked about it.
Christopher thought the man was Gabriel de Witt and was all prepared to hate him, until Flavian said, “No, of course, Dr. Simonson,” apologizing for Christopher. “The old lady gave it to him, you know. Shall I—?”
Christopher decided to hate the bearded man anyway.
The dragon’s eyes met Christopher’s, almost soulfully. Among the ruins and rafters of the farm roof, it opened its huge mouth. It was rather as if a door had opened into the heart of a sun. A white-orange prominence spouted from the sun, one strong accurate shaft of it, straight at Christopher. WHOOF. He was in a furnace. He heard his skin fry. During an instant of utter agony, he had time to think, Oh bother! Another hundred lines!
"My advice is that you then start with pentacle and fire," Dr. Simonson droned on, "using the simpler form of words to start the process, but..."And of course, that didn't happen (though Cat does notice that Roger and Julia are able to contribute to the conversation, which he and Gwendolyn cannot do).
Christopher sat silent, thinking that if he did get to be the next Chrestomanci he would forbid people to talk about their work at mealtimes. Ever.
"I don't know who my parents were."I don't remember that line making an impact on me when I was eleven, but now it's one of the most powerful lines of dialogue in the book. I mean: yikes.
Christopher was impressed. "Is that why you're always so cheerful?"