However, this was a library unlike any they had ever seen before. It was nothing like his school library, Jonny though, which – on a good day – may contain a couple of books about the agricultural revolution and an encyclopaedia about growing up (with suitably patronizing ‘anatomical’ illustrations, including several pop-up bits).
No, this library was absolutely crammed with magic books. Tall books, zigzag-shaped books, books as small as playing cards; illustrated books, theoretical books; books about billiard balls, books about balloon animals, books about illusions, books about other books, books on books on books about other books; books stacked upright, books stacked sideways, upside-down books, books with fancy tassels – a proper hodgepodge of conjuring books; a dry-stone wall of books, all interlocking perfectly, filling every possible space.
“Fred, Fred, Fred, I’m sick of hearing about him!’ snapped Jess’s mum. ‘He rang the other day, and straight away you were off out to meet him. Haven’t you got any dignity? Any pride? Or will you just run off out at the beck and call of any Tom, Dick, or Harry?’
