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第3章 偷渡客

anything for a moment, I was gone.

beauty only, to the enchanted palaces of the poets: who build them wilh small cost

At once, Harry's scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again—and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Harry a hatred so powerful he felt, for that instant, he would like nothing better than to strike—to bite—to sink his fangs into the man before him—

before tea; now it was dark: what could keep him? Had an

As if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of the

and their solemnity, Mr. Limbkins said: “We have considered your

ANDY

apparel; and each of the young persons before us has a string of

any extent.’