“Wie gehts, Gottfried?”
And Herr Gottfried, planting his flat feet like dead weights in front of him, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair, smiled at some, spoke to others, and at last found a little corner at the end of the room, a corner comparatively quiet but most astoundingly smelly.
Peter sat down and recovered his breath. How far away now was Treliss with its cobbled street, and the Grey Hill with the Giant's Finger pointing solemnly to the sky.
“I have no money,” he said.
“The Master has given me this for you,” Herr Gottfried said, handing him two sovereigns, “he says it is in advance for the week.”
The meat-pies, beer and bread were ordered and then for a time they sat in silence. Peter was turning in his mind a thousand questions that he would like to ask but he was still afraid of his strange companion and he felt a little as though he were some human volcano that might at any moment burst forth and cover him with furious disaster.
Then Herr Gottfried said:
“And so you care for reading?”
“Yes.”
“What do you read?”