e a man looking out of  of man s at Mrs. Coulters, a subtle politician used to porengt; e big enougo carry tion; on  didnt look preposterous, it looked barbaric and magnificent.

    Soo feeble for words.

    But stle closer, because so, and t lofur  a cat sit there—or a daemon.

    It uffed doll, a manikin  stupid  er   of rougo ending hen she knew she was safe.

    So talaimon keeping quiet and still in .

    “Our greetings to you, great King,” sly. “Or I mean my greetings, not his.”

    “Not  it  full of expressive tones and subtleties.  of o dislodge t clustered there.

    “lorek Byrnisons, Your Majesty,” s sometant and secret to tell you, and I t to tell you in private, really.”

    “Somet lorek Byrnison?”

    So epping carefully over ttered floor, and brus her face.

    “Somet daemons,” s only he could hear.

    read   t t erested. Suddenly o t to tling again on ts.

    y but for lofur Raknison and Lyra, urned to her eagerly.

    “ell?” ell me  daemons?”

    “I am a daemon, Your Majesty,” she said.

    opped still.

    “hose?” he said.

    “lorek Byrnisons,” was her answer.

    It  dangerous te clearly t only onis prevented  once. S on:

    “Please, Your Majesty, let me tell you all about it first before you harm me.

    Ive come  my o t could  you. In fact, I  to s o get a daemon, but it ss why I came.”

    “ a daemon? And s easy. I can go far from cs like t. And as for  me, it  Bolvangar. Youve er must old