Digory as last caught her ankle. She kicked back with her heel and hit him in the mouth. In his pain he lost hold. His lip was cut and his mouth full of blood. From somewhere very close by came the voice of Uncle Andrew in a sort of trembling scream. “Madam.my dear young lady.for heaven’s sake.compose yourself.” Digory made a second grab at her heel， and was again shaken off. More men were knocked down by the iron bar. He made a third grab： caught the heel： held on like grim death， shouting to Polly “Go！” then.Oh， thank goodness. The angry， frightened faces had vanished. The angry， frightened voices were silenced. All except Uncle Andrew‘s. Close beside Digory in the darkness， it was wailing on： “Oh， oh， is this delirium？ Is it the end？ I can’t bear it. It‘s not fair. I never meant to be a Magician. It’s all a misunderstanding. It‘s all my godmother’s fault； I must protest against this. In my state of health too. A very old Dorsetshire family.”
“Bother！” thought Digory. “We didn‘t want to bring himalong. My hat， what a picnic. Are you there， Polly？” “Yes， I’m here. Don‘t keep on shoving.”
