Fairytales of Famous Authors Compared to Disney Cartoons with proper respect etc

The Magician's Nephew Book7 C.SLEWIS(1950-1954) P4

Please do not copy these chapters to any other website, this is a private book for reference to those who write and read and are unfamiliar with the stories since they may not have had access to them. I have no intentions of publishing this publicly at all if you see someone doing that they violate copyright law, you must report them immediately. This is a second edition book in which the stories were reprinted and not the exact original copy from all book set of three books containing every book in the Narnia Series in Chronological order and they made up three big book boxset and I own this set. This is just for me as a reference and private Wattpad only book so that others unfamiliar with these stories may be able to read and catch up even if they do not own the book, do not have access to a computer or wifi for that matter. C. S. Lewis was and is to this day one of my favorite authors. He served in the World Wars and when he got too old to do that he rescued four real children of which Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy are inspired from. So these characters aren't just characters they're more real than any other characters I know. And since I've put up one Christmas story it is only right I should do an even more beloved version. And the way I update this will be out of chronological order this story and the stories that follow will become huge points of cultural learning about Earth and how it works giving young Fairies a big shock in The Problems of Negativix. I will also continue my reference notes and opinions in my special () so that is not just the story,  my dear Skylights. -Lumna10.

Chapter 8: The Fight At The Lamp-post

"Ho! Hempress, are you? We'll see about that," said a voice. Then another voice said, "Three cheers for the Hempress of Colney 'Atch" and quite a number joined in.
A flush of colour came into the Witch's face and she bowed ever so slightly. But the cheers died away into roars of laughter and she saw that they had only been making fun of her. A change came over her expression and she changed the knife to her left hand. Then, without warning, she did a thing that was dreadful to see. Lightly, easily, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, she stretched up her right arm and wrenched off one of the cross-bars of the lamp-post. If she had lost some magical powers in our world, she had not lost her strength; she could break an iron bar as if it were a stick of barley-sugar. She tossed her new weapon up in the air, caught it again, brandished it, and urged the horse forward.
"Now's my chance," thought Digory. He darted between the horse and the railings and began going forward. If only the brute would stay still for a moment he might catch the Witch's heel. As he rushed, he heard a sickening crash and a thud. The Witch had brought the bar down on the chief policeman's helmet: the man fell like a nine-pin.
"Quick, Digory. This must be stopped," said a voice beside him. It was Polly, who had rushed down the moment she was allowed out of bed.
"You are a brick," said Digory. "Hold on to me tight. You'll have to manage the ring. Yellow, remember. And don't put it on till I shout."
There was a second crash and another policeman crumpled up. There came an angry roar from the crowd. «pull her down. Get a few paving-stones. Call out the Military." But most of them were getting as far away as they could. The Cabby, however, obviously the bravest as well as the kindest person present, was keeping close to the horse, dodging this way and that to avoid the bar, but still trying to catch Strawberry's head.
The crowd booed and bellowed again. A stone whistled over Digory's head. Then came the voice of the Witch, clear like a great bell, and sounding as if, for once, she were almost happy.
"Scum! You shall pay dearly for this when I have conquered your world. Not one stone of your city will be left.
I will make it as Charn, as Felinda, as Sorlois, as Bra-mandin."
Digory as last caught her ankle. She kicked back with her heel and hit him in the mouth. In his pain he lost hold. His lip was cut and his mouth full of blood. From somewhere very close by came the voice of Uncle Andrew in a sort of trembling scream. "Madam –– my dear young lady –– for heaven's sake –– compose yourself." Digory made a second grab at her heel, and was again shaken off. More men were knocked down by the iron bar. He made a third grab: caught the heel: held on like grim death, shouting to Polly "Go!" then –– Oh, thank goodness. The angry, frightened faces had vanished. The angry, frightened voices were silenced.
All except Uncle Andrew's. Close beside Digory in the darkness, it was wailing on "Oh, oh, is this delirium? Is it the end? I can't bear it. It's not fair. I never meant to be a Magician. It's all a misunderstanding. It's all my godmother's fault; I must protest against this. In my state of health too. A very old Dorsetshire "Oh bother!" thought Digory. "We didn't want to bring him along. My hat, what a picnic. Are you there, Polly?"
"Yes, I'm here. Don't keep on shoving."
"I'm not," began Digory, but before he could say anything more, their heads came out into the warm, green sunshine of the wood. And as they stepped out of the pool Polly cried out:
Oh look! We've brought the old horse with us too. And Mr Ketterley. And the Cabby. This is a pretty kettle of fish!"