Гарри Поттер и философский камень

           Harrypickeditupandstaredatit, hishearttwanginglikeagiantelasticband. Noone,ever,inhiswholelife,hadwrittentohim. Whowould?Hehadnofriends,nootherrelatives —hedidn’tbelongtothelibrary, sohe’dneverevengotrudenotesaskingforbooksback. Yethereitwas,aletter,addressedsoplainly therecouldbenomistake: 

           Mr.H.Potter 

           TheCupboardundertheStairs 

           4PrivetDrive 

           LittleWhinging 

           Surrey 

           Theenvelopewasthickandheavy, madeofyellowishparchment, andtheaddresswaswritteninemerald-greenink. Therewasnostamp. 

           Turningtheenvelopeover,hishandtrembling, Harrysawapurplewaxsealbearingacoatofarms; alion,aneagle,abadger,andasnakesurroundingalargeletterH. 

           "Hurryup,boy!"shoutedUncleVernonfromthekitchen. "Whatareyoudoing,checkingforletterbombs?" Hechuckledathisownjoke. 

           Harrywentbacktothekitchen, stillstaringathisletter. HehandedUncleVernonthebillandthepostcard, satdown,andslowlybegantoopentheyellowenvelope. 

           UncleVernonrippedopenthebill, snortedindisgust, andflippedoverthepostcard.