impulse o turn and run, or to be sick. A  a face, or  torn out: sometural and uncanny t belonged to t-gs, not the waking world of sense.

    So Lyra clung to Pantalaimon and   moistened ill.

    “Ratter,” said t my Ratter?”

    Lyra  w .

    “No,” sened as s. ts your name?”

    “tony Makarios,” ter?”

    “I dont kno of t do of course s by alaimon o be cut from tle boy ed from ter! t talaimon e pity and sorrohe half-boy.

    t to  again.

    “Come on,” srembling voice. “tony, come out. ere going to take you somewhere safe.”

    tir of movement in t till clutcs, a ted coal-silk anorak and fur boots, but t fit  outside t came from t trails of t and piteous even t first, croucern lighe fish racks.

    t tern reated a feo them.

    lorek Byrnison interpreted: “ pay for t fish.”

    Lyra felt like telling to kill  saking to give one fiso pay for t.”

    ttered, but didnt argue. Lyra set ern doook to guide o t t  standing so close, and  on loreks back, all he said was:

    “I dunno wter is.”

    “No, nor do ony,” s  all rig up too?”

    “My armor weighan children,” he said.

    So sony and made o tiff fur, and Pantalaimon sat inside y. Lyra kne Pantalaimons impulse o reac and cuddle ttle o lick le  t taboo prevented t, of course.

    to seeing t ilated creature taken a we bear.

    In Lyras , revulsion struggled  tle form to o ty  seemed to pass more quickly for all t. lorek Byrnison ireless, and Lyras riding became automa