As he ate it he sighed more than once. Perhaps because the chop
was nasty, perhaps because he longed for the charm which the
children did not want to sell, perhaps because it was so long
since anyone cared whether he ate his chops or forgot them.

Anthea caught the others at the stair-foot. They woke the
Psammead, and it taught them exactly how to use the word of
power, and to make the charm speak. I am not going to tell you
how this is done, because you might try to do it. And for you
any such trying would be almost sure to end in disappointment.
Because in the first place it is a thousand million to one
against your ever getting hold of the right sort of charm, and if
you did, there would be hardly any chance at all of your finding
a learned gentleman clever enough and kind enough to read the
word for you.

The children and the Psammead crouched in a circle on the
floor--in the girls' bedroom, because in the parlour they might
have been interrupted by old Nurse's coming in to lay the cloth
for tea--and the charm was put in the middle of the circle.

The sun shone splendidly outside, and the room was very light.
Through the open window came the hum and rattle of London, and in
the street below they could hear the voice of the milkman.

When all was ready, the Psammead signed to Anthea to say the
word. And she said it. Instantly the whole light of all the
world seemed to go out. The room was dark. The world outside
was dark--darker than the darkest night that ever was. And all