Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought Alice “without pictures or conversation?”
My father came into the room briskly and asked if I had murdered the Tonkins children. I said no, but I’d often thought of it. The perfect chance had not yet presented itself.
“There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.”
There was a boy named Milo who didn’t know what to do with himself – not just sometimes, but always.
“Where’s Papa going with that axe?’ said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the pop-holes.
When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen.
This chapter is a very short one. It should really have been called ‘Preface’ or ‘Introduction’, but I knew that you would never read it if I called it by such a boring name, so I have called it Chapter One.