Гарри Поттер и Орден Феникса

A Peck of Owls

           Anawfulvoicefilledthekitchen,echoingintheconfinedspace,issuingfromtheburningletteronthetable.

           ’REMEMBERMYLAST,PETUNIA.

           AuntPetunialookedasthoughshemightfaint.ShesankintothechairbesideDudley,herfaceinherhands.Theremainsoftheenvelopesmoulderedintoashinthesilence.

           ’Whatisthis?’UncleVernonsaidhoarsely.’WhatIdon’tPetunia?’

           AuntPetuniasaidnothing.Dudleywasstaringstupidlyathismother,hismouthhangingopen.Thesilencespiralledhorribly.Harrywaswatchinghisaunt,utterlybewildered,hisheadthrobbingfittoburst.

           ’Petunia,dear?’saidUncleVernontimidly.’P-Petunia?’

           Sheraisedherhead.Shewasstilltrembling.Sheswallowed.

           ’Theboytheboywillhavetostay,Vernon,’shesaidweakly.

           ’W-what?’

           ’Hestays,’shesaid.ShewasnotlookingatHarry.Shegottoherfeetagain.

           ’He...butPetunia...

           ’Ifwethrowhimout,theneighbourswilltalk,’shesaid.Shewasrapidlyregainingherusualbrisk,snappishmanner,thoughshewasstillverypale.’They’llaskawkwardquestions,they’llwanttoknowwherehe’sgone.We’llhavetokeephim.

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