“I say.” began Jill， but suddenly broke off with a cry： not a sharp cry. It sounded more as if her mouth had been muffled up or had something pushed into it. After that she found her voice and seemed to be shouting out as loud as she could， but they couldn‘t hear the words. Two things then happened at the same moment. The patch of light was completely blocked up for a second or so； and they heard both a scuffling， struggling sound and the voice of the Marsh.wiggle gasping； “Quick！ Help！ Hold on to her legs. Someone’s pulling her. There！ No， here. Too late！”
The opening， and the cold light which filled it， were nowerfectly clear again. Jill had vanished.
“Jill！ Jill！” they shouted frantically， but there was no nswer.
“Why the dickens couldn‘t you have held her feet？” said ustace.
“I don’t know， Scrubb，” groaned Puddleglum. “Born to be misfit， I shouldn‘t wonder. Fated. Fated to be Pole’s death， st as I was fated to eat Talking Stag at Harfang. Not that isn‘t my own fault as well， of course.”
