“I never will!”

    “O to groions for a settled form.”

    “ are they?”

    “Knoake old Belisaria. S means Im a kind of seagull too. Im not grand and splendid nor beautiful, but Im a toug of food and company. ts  is. And  of person you are.”

    “But suppose your daemon settles in a s like?”

    “ell, tented, ent you? ty of folk asd like to ill to be satisfied  to be fretful about it. aste of feeling, t is.”

    But it didnt seem to Lyra t she would ever grow up.

    One morning t smell in to side instead of te after s trange siger all t er, for t sea a fe as if tly aain rose, green flanked and snotle toory spire, cranes in t mixed  came land smells too: pine resin and eart  mig h.

    Seals frisked around ter before sinking back  a splas lifted spray off te-capped rously cold, and searc every gap in Lyras  oo cold to stay outside for long  o do, even to c beloo eat  porridge and look the saloon.

    Inside ter  ter Lyra began to feel unsteady from tion. Salaimon avidly cohe quayside.

    During t o a quiet background rumble, voices sed orders or queries, ropes ches opened.

    “Come on, Lyra,” said Farder Coram. “Is everything packed?”

    Lyras possessions, suco do o the shopping bag, and she was ready.

    t to visit tc didnt take long to find it; ttle toered around tory and tced  jangled loudly in t street.

    A servant so a little parlor and brougly to greet t man , le serpent, tense and brilliant green as c  sure co look