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Harry Potter And the Sorcerer’s Stone-(41)
 
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On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table 
looking tired and rather ill, but happy. 
 
“No post on Sundays,” he reminded them cheerfully as he 
spread marmalade on his newspapers, “no damn letters today —” 
 
Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he 
spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, 
thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like 
bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to 
catch one — 
 
“Out! OUT!” 
 
Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into 
the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their 
arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They 
could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off 
the walls and floor. 
 
“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but 
pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. “I want 
you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We’re going away. 
 
Just pack some clothes. No arguments!” 
 
He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no 
one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way 
through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward 
the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had 
hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack 
his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag. 
 
They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn’t dare 
ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon 
would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a 
while. |   
 
 
                    
                     
 
 
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