Dragonwings: Chapters 7–12

She put the sugar bowl and the—ugh—cream jar away, despite her misgivings.

And after the half-hour lesson would come the reward, when we would work at a model of a glider, imitating the pictures and schematics in the books.

And he went into a lot of jargon about center of gravity and wing configuration.

They were printed on cheap tan-colored paper with the most lurid paper covers, and they ranged across a wide variety of subjects.

Down the alley mouth, I could see the cobblestone street undulate and twist like a red-backed snake.

She huddled up, looking no longer like the noisy, boisterous girl I knew.

From up the stairs we could hear the querulous old voices of the boarders demanding to know what had happened.

Miss Whitlaw sang "Barbara Allen” in a high, ethereal voice, with Robin helping her.

Uncle just snorted, convinced that it was part of the general ineptitude of the deities who were in charge of the universe.

Because it was hard to get fodder for Red Rabbit—the demon soldiers now gave us bread and water reluctantly, let alone fodder for our horse—we sent Hand Clap south with the wagon to some of our kinsmen.

It was like a river of light, and each light represented a person or maybe several people—the lights of their homes or the streetlights outside them; and I did not think of them as scrabbling for money or being stupid or malicious.

“About those two lovers to whose memory I have consecrated myself.”

“Well, you’re a plucky lad, though you’re a fool.

“The horoscope book said this is a most auspicious day,” he told Uncle.

Uncle locked himself in his room for one whole night and the next day came out as cantankerous as ever.