hunted the world over.

He had been a little boy. He would never be quite a little boy again.

Or perhaps the Dragon wasn't dead at all--perhaps Dragons never died,
but lived on and on, hiding in secret places, waiting to pounce out on
you and drag you back.

He seized Christine's hand.

"Let's run," he whispered. "Let's run fast."




II

1

He discovered that there were people in the world who could make scenes
without noise. They were like the crocodiles he had met on his visit
to the Zoo, lying malignantly inert in their oily water. But one
twitch of the tail, one blink of a lightless eye, was more terrifying
than the roar of a lion.

No one made a noise in Christine's home. The two sisters looked at
Robert as though he were a small but disagreeable smell that they tried
politely to ignore. They asked him if he wanted a second helping in
voices of glacial courtesy. They said things to each other and at
Christine which were quiet and deadly as the rustle of a snake in the