arslow c!

    Someone in tials must ood ly the same.

    t be a Simon Parslohis world.

    Perhere was a Lyra.

    A calaimon s. Series enoug imagining more.

    t numbers of people s of every building; people of every sort, artars meekly folloly dressed and  tle black cases. S t first, because ts, or worse.

    But (trangest tures moved about co concede t  t them as ills was.

    After  for an aking t  a bar of ce y-pound note. t   understand , per an apple from t, side a grand building, a real Oxford-looking building t didnt exist in  all, t   of place. S on tside to eat, and regarded the building approvingly.

    S it uffed animals and fossil skeletons and cases of minerals, just like ted er in  t iron-and-glass rance to anot of t ed, s ter ill t urgent t in tic clot like ing rops of magic and tools and  only from tic, as s from every part of trange. tly t tied traces on t sledge completely  ogram sers, t Lyra and sold o Bolvangar. Look! t rope ted in precisely t, and s intimately, ied up in t very sledge for several agonizing  eries? as ter all, s time dreaming of others?

    And t made er again. In an old glass case ed  t, some on top. ter wo.

    t said in spidery ing on a card, repanning. t all times, because t: till in it, and its edges  .

    t artars did. And anislaus Grumman o o took out ter.

    Sral skull and asked:  sort of person did to, and w?

    As sood concentrating in ty lig filtered ted do t notice t sched.

    A