quot;My cer!  ter to tear t, s;

    Mrs. Coulters cry resounded ttle c top of t tohe coils of a silver chain.

    Lord Asriel sat nearby, scribbling on a piece of paper, taking no notice. An orderly stood beside  ted and , errier daemon close at ail tucked low.

    Lord Asriel turned to Mrs. Coulter.

    quot;Lyra? Frankly, I dont care,quot;  and ;tcayed  e any more time or resources on o be  ;

    quot;You dont mean t, Asriel, or you  ;

    quot;I mean every . t of all proportion to s. An ordinary Englis very clever...”

    quot;S; said Mrs. Coulter.

    quot;All rig but not intellectual; impulsive, dis, greedy...”

    quot;Brave, generous, loving.quot;

    quot;A perfectly ordinary cinguis;Perfectly ordinary? Lyra? Shes unique.

    t s dont you dare patronize your daugil...”

    quot;Youre rig; ting up. quot;So amed and softened you, ts no everyday feat. Saken your teet. Your fires been quencimental piety.  it? tiless agent of tical persecutor of cor of o slice t and look in terrified little beings for any evidence of sin, and along comes a foul-mout little brat y fingernails, and you cluck and settle your feat: t  Ive never seen myself. But if all it does is turn you into a doting mots a pretty ttle gift. And no conference, and if you cant control your noise, Ill ;

    Mrs. Coulter o to spit in Lord Asriels face.  calmly a;A gag  an end to t kind of beoo.quot;

    quot;O me, Asriel,quot; s;Someone ied to a ceness. Untie me, or