The End (A Series of Unfortunate Events, #13)

by Lemony Snicket

“You wouldn’t dare release the Medusoid Mycelium,” Klaus said, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt. “You’d be poisoned as quickly as we would.” “Equivalent flotilla,” Sunny said sternly to the villain. “Our sister’s right,” Violet said. “We’re in the same boat, Olaf.

“Kikbucit?” Sunny asked, but at that moment Count Olaf’s eyes opened and the youngest Baudelaire’s question was answered.

“If that’s Kit Snicket or some bratty orphan,” he said, “I’ll harpoon her right where she stands. No ridiculous volunteer is going to take my island away from me!” “You don’t want to waste your last harpoon,” Violet said, thinking quickly. “Who knows where you’ll find another one?” “That’s true,” Olaf admitted. “You’re becoming an excellent henchwoman.”

“Olaf?” Ishmael said, and his eyebrows raised again. “Is this man a friend of yours?” “Fat chance,” Sunny said.

LMAOO

“Sherman’s the name,” said Sherman, with a little bow to all three siblings. “And I found a cheese grater. I nearly lost a finger prying it away from a nest of crabs!” “You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble,” Ishmael said. “We’re not going to have much use for a cheese grater without any cheese.” “Grate coconut,” Sunny said. “Delicious cake.”

Why don’t you have some lunch?” “That would be wonderful,” Klaus said. “We’re quite hungry.” “Whatya fixin?” asked Sunny.

But at this moment, the Baudelaires wondered one thing most of all, and that was why Ishmael had called them orphans, when they hadn’t told him their whole story.

if you try to avoid every instance of peer pressure you will end up without any peers whatsoever, and the trick is to succumb to enough pressure that you do not drive your peers away, but not so much that you end up in a situation in which you are dead or otherwise uncomfortable.

What about you, Sunny? What do you miss?” “Fountain,” Sunny said. “The Fowl Fountain, at the Village of Fowl Devotees?” Klaus asked. “No,” Sunny said, shaking her head. “In city.” “The Fountain of Victorious Finance?” Violet asked. “Why on earth would you miss that?” “First swim,” Sunny said, and her siblings gasped. “You can’t remember that,” Klaus said. “You were just a few weeks old,” Violet said. “I remember,” Sunny said firmly, and the elder Baudelaires shook their heads in wonder.

“Incredi!” Sunny cried, and it was true, for the enormous snake that was wrapping itself around the Baudelaires was, incredibly, a creature they had not seen for quite some time and never thought they would see again in their lives. “It’s the Incredibly Deadly Viper!” Klaus said in amazement. “How in the world did it end up here?” “Ishmael said that everything eventually washes up on the shores of this island,” Violet said, “but I never thought I’d see this reptile again.”

“It seems that from the moment you joined us, the island is threatened with secrecy and treachery,” Ishmael said, with a weary sigh. “We’ve never had to punish anyone here before you arrived, and now there’s another suspicious person lurking around the island.” “Dreyfuss?” Sunny said, which meant “What precisely are you accusing us of?” but the facilitator kept talking as if she had not said a word.

“The spores will infect us, the same as everyone else.” “Yomhashoah,” Sunny said, which meant “Never again.”

Thinking about something is like picking up a stone when taking a walk, either while skipping rocks on the beach, for example, or looking for a way to shatter the glass doors of a museum. When you think about something, it adds a bit of weight to your walk, and as you think about more and more things you are liable to feel heavier and heavier, until you are so burdened you cannot take any further steps, and can only sit and stare at the gentle movements of the ocean waves or security guards, thinking too hard about too many things to do anything else.

Ishmael shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said, which is something the middle Baudelaire never liked to be told.

the engine isn’t sure it can accomplish this, but it begins to mutter to itself, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” and before long it has muttered its way to success.

some authors insert confusing sentences in the middle of a book just to confuse anyone who might be skimming. Three very short men were carrying a large, flat piece of wood, painted to look like a living room.

Sunny reached toward the gap in the roots and then curled to the floor in pain. “Kikbucit?” she asked, her voice weak and faint. “We can’t die here,” Violet said, her voice so feeble her siblings could scarcely hear her.

The snake slithered through the gap in the roots of the tree, and whatever the serpent was thinking, it was quite clear from the sibilant sound that came hissing through the reptile’s clenched teeth that the Incredibly Deadly Viper was offering the Baudelaire orphans an apple.

“We are respecting our parents’ wishes,” Violet said, hoisting the apples as high as she could. “They didn’t want to shelter us from the world’s treacheries. They wanted us to survive them.”

There is a kind of crying I hope you have not experienced, and it is not just crying about something terrible that has happened, but a crying for all of the terrible things that have happened, not just to you but to everyone you know and to everyone you don’t know and even the people you don’t want to know, a crying that cannot be diluted by a brave deed or a kind word, but only by someone holding you as your shoulders shake and your tears run down your face.

Let my child be part of my history, even if the baby is an orphan, and all alone in the world.” “The baby will not be alone,” Violet said fiercely. “If you die, Kit, we will raise this child as our own.” “I could not ask for better,” Kit said quietly.

As the Baudelaire orphans looked on, Count Olaf gave Kit Snicket a gentle kiss on her trembling mouth. “Yuck,” said Sunny, as Kit’s eyes fluttered open. “I told you,” Count Olaf said weakly. “I told you I’d do that one last time.” “You’re a wicked man,” Kit said. “Do you think one kind act will make me forgive you for your failings?”

This is not to say, of course, that the Baudelaire orphans died that day. They were far too busy. Although they were still children, the Baudelaires were parents now, and there was quite a lot to do.

She was gazing at the nameplate, and her forehead was wrinkled in concentration. Finally, she uttered a word. The Baudelaire orphans gasped when they heard it, but they could not say for sure whether she was reading the word out loud or merely stating her own name, and indeed they never learned this. Perhaps this last word was the baby’s first secret, joining the secrets the Baudelaires were keeping from the baby, and all the other secrets immersed in the world. Perhaps it is better not to know precisely what was meant by this word, as some things are better left in the great unknown. There are some words, of course, that are better left unsaid—but not, I believe, the word uttered by my niece, a word which here means that the story is over. Beatrice.