Children's Fiction Narratives
Description
Read MoreVocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
British (Received Pronunciation - RP, BBC) North American (South West - Texas) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Pete had been whispering and drovers ear when he saw my enormous bulk looming up before him. He ceased his whispering and giggling and other forms of silly behavior and said, My goodness, the cops air here. You got that right, son. Now I'm very busy and I want some straight answers. Number one, What's going on around here? And don't bother it alive because I've had you under surveillance for the last hour. Drover spoke up. We were just talking. That's right, hanky. We were just talking. I'm well aware that you were talking cat and I have reason to think you were talking about me. Pete arches back and started digging his claws into the dirt. Why would we want to talk about such a boring subject out with the cat? What were you saying? Well, said Pete, I just bet Drover a chicken bone that if we look toward the saddle shed and laughed, you'd be in the garden within 30 seconds. Drover nodded his head. That that's what he said, All right, that's just what I thought, he said. I said, suddenly the witch that boldly out toward the lion it was coming on, always singing with a slow, heavy pace. It was only 12 yards away. She raised her arm and flung the iron bar straight at its head. Nobody, least of all Jada's, could have missed it. That range. The bar struck the Lion Fair between the eyes. It glanced off and fell with a thud in the grass. The lion came on. Its walk was neither slower nor faster than before. You could not tell whether it even knew it had been hit. Though it's soft, pads made no noise, you could feel the earth shake beneath their weight. Do you still think that line could be killed by a gun? Ask Diggory. He didn't mind the iron bomb much with all her faults, said Uncle Andrew. That's a plucky girl, my boy. It was a spirited thing to do. It was a wicked thing to do, said Polly. What home had you done her? Hello? What's that? Said Diggory. He had darted forward to examine something only a few yards away. I say, Paulie, he called back. Do come and look. It was a perfect little model of a lamp post about three feet high but lengthening and thickening in proportion as they watched it. In fact, growing Justus. The trees had grown. It's a life, too. I mean, it's let, said Diggory, and so it waas.