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Seek the full text of roald dahl's The Witch.

The first chapter is about witches

In fairy tales, witches always wear silly black hats and cloaks and fly around on brooms. But what I want to tell you now is a real witch, not a fairy tale.

The most important thing about a real witch is that you must know and listen carefully. Don't forget the following words. Real witches wear ordinary clothes, just like ordinary women, live in ordinary houses and do ordinary jobs.

That's why it's hard to find them. Real witches gnash their teeth and hate children, ten points more than you can imagine. She really gnashes her teeth.

The real witch spent all her time plotting to destroy her local children, just trying to get rid of them one by one. She's been thinking about this all day. Even when she was a cashier in a supermarket, or when she wrote a letter to her boss, or when she was driving around in a high-end car (which she could do), her heart was still burning and this bloodthirsty killing idea was boiling. She planned and planned her killing action.

"Which child," she thought all day, "which child should I kill next?"

The pleasure of a real witch killing a child is like eating a plate of cream strawberries.

She is scheduled to kill one child every week, and she will be unhappy without her.

One child a week is fifty-two a year.

Kill them and destroy them.

This is the motto of all witches.

She chose the object carefully, and after choosing it, she followed the unlucky child like a hunter quietly following a bird in the forest. She moved quietly, getting closer and closer until everything was ready ... Wow! ..... She did it right away!

Sparks splash, flames soar, fat boils, mice scream, skin shrinks and children disappear.

You must understand that witches will never hit children on the head, stab them with a knife or shoot them. You will be caught by the police.

Witches are never arrested. Don't forget that her fingers are magical, and her blood is full of witchcraft. She can make the stone head jump like a frog, and make the flame flash on the water.

This magic is terrible.

Fortunately, there are not many real witches in the world today, but the number is still enough to make you nervous. In Britain, there are about one hundred witches. There are many witches in some countries and few in others, but there is no country in the world without witches at all.

Witches are always women.

I don't want to speak ill of women. Most women are cute. But it is still true that all witches are women. No witch is a man.

On the other hand, ghouls are all men. The fierce dog mountain demon in Scotland is also a man. Both are equally dangerous.

However, neither of them is half as dangerous as a real witch.

For children, a real witch is undoubtedly the most dangerous of all creatures in the world. She is doubly dangerous because she doesn't look dangerous at all. Even if you know all the secrets (what you are about to hear), you still can't tell whether you saw a witch or just a kind woman. If a tiger can be transformed into a big dog wagging its tail, you may even go up and pat its head. Then you're dead. Witches are like this.

They all seem like very nice women.

Please look at the picture below. Which woman do you say is a witch? This is a difficult question to answer, but every child must answer it.

You may not know that the witch may live in the suite on your right.

Or she is the woman with sparkling eyes who sat opposite you on the bus this morning.

She may be the woman who smiled at you in the street before lunch and took out a piece of candy from a white bag and invited you to eat.

She may even be the teacher who is reading these words to you at the moment-you will really jump.

Please take a closer look at this teacher. She will even smile at you when she reads this ridiculous sentence. Don't let her seem to fool you like this. This may be one of her cunning tricks.

Of course, I'm not saying that your teacher is really a witch at all. I'm just saying that she may be a witch. 99.999% won't. But-this is an extremely important "but"-it is not absolutely impossible.

Oh, if only there is a way to tell which woman is a witch, so that we can see through them all and stuff them into the meat grinder. Unfortunately, there is no way. However, all witches have some small features and strange habits that you can see. If you know them and keep them in mind, you may run away from them before you grow up.

Chapter II My Grandma

I saw witches twice before I was eight. The first time I escaped safely, the second time I was not so lucky.

When you read what happened to me, you will scream. There is nothing I can do about it. I have to tell you the whole story. But I'm still here, and I can tell you what happened to me (no matter how strange my appearance looks), which is entirely due to my great-grandmother.

My grandmother is Norwegian. Norwegians know witches like the back of their hands, because there are many dark forests and frozen mountains in Norway, where the earliest witches appeared. My parents are Norwegian, too, but my father does business in England. I was born there, lived there and went to an English school. Twice a year, during Christmas and summer vacation, we go back to Norway to see my grandmother. As far as I can remember, this old lady is the only living relative of my parents. She is my mother's mother, and I love her very much. She can speak Norwegian and English when she is with me. We can speak any language. We speak both languages equally fluently. I have to admit, I think she and I are closer than my mother.

Shortly after my seventh birthday, my parents took me to Norway to spend Christmas with my grandmother as usual.

It was there that my parents and I drove to the north of Oslo in cold weather. Our car skidded off the road and turned into a deep rocky valley. My parents died because of this, and I was only slightly injured in the forehead because I was firmly tied to the back seat of the car.

I don't want to talk about the terrible things that happened that terrible afternoon. I still shudder at the thought of it. Naturally, I finally returned to my grandmother's house. She held me tightly in her arms and they cried all night.

"What shall we do now?" I asked her with tears.

"You live here with me," she said. "I will take care of you."

"I'm not going back to England?"

"No," she said, "I can't go. Heaven will take my soul, but Norway will keep my bones. "

The next day, in order to make us both forget the great grief, grandma began to tell me stories. She is good at telling stories, and I am fascinated by every story she tells me. But I wasn't really excited until she talked about witches. She is obviously an expert on witches. She explained to me that her witch story is different from most stories and is not fiction. It's all true. It's absolutely true. It's all true. Everything she told me about witches is true. I had better trust them. To make matters worse, witches still exist among us. They are all around us, and I'd better believe them, too.

"Grandma, what you said is true? Is it really true? "

"My little baby," she said, "if you don't recognize a witch, you won't live long in this world."

"But you tell me, witches are like ordinary women, grandma. How can I recognize them?"

"You must listen to me carefully," said my grandmother. "You must remember everything I said to you. If you do this, you can only draw a cross on your chest and pray for God's blessing. I hope everything will be fine. "

At this time, we were in her living room in Oslo, and I was ready for bed. The curtains in this house are never closed. Through the window, I can see the heavy snow outside the dark window. My grandmother is very old, with a wrinkled face and a large body wearing a gray lace skirt. She sat in an armchair, which was so full that there was not even a gap, and mice could not get in. I just turned seven, sitting on the floor at her feet, wearing pajamas. Pajamas, pajamas and slippers.

"You swear, are you kidding me?" I kept saying to her, "swear, you didn't lie to me, did you?"

"Listen," she said, "I know that at least five children suddenly disappeared from the earth, and no one has ever seen them again. The witch wiped them out. "

"I still think you're just trying to scare me." I said.

"I just hope you will never make the same mistake again," she said. "I love you and I want you to be with me."

"Tell me how those children disappeared." I said.

My grandmother is the only grandmother I have ever seen who smokes cigars. Now she lights a long black cigar that smells like burning rubber. "The first missing child I know," she said, "was named Ranhilde? Hansen. At that time, Ranhilde was about eight years old. She was playing on the grass with her little sister. Their mother is baking bread in the kitchen to get some air. Where's Lanside? She asked her little daughter.

"'She left with a tall lady.' The little sister replied.

"'What tall lady?' Mom asked.

"'A tall lady with white gloves,' said the little sister. She took her sister by the hand and took her away.

No one has ever seen this Lanside again. "

"Didn't you go to see her?" I asked.

"Everyone looked for a lot of miles everywhere, and people in the city helped, but they couldn't find her."

"What about the other four children?" I asked.

"Like Ranhilde, it's all over."

"How did they disappear, Grandma?"

"Before every accident, I always see a strange woman outside the house."

"But how did they disappear?"

"The second one is very strange," said my grandmother. "There is a family named christiansen who lives in Koren, Hollmen. They are very proud of an old oil painting in their living room. There are some ducks on the grass outside the farmhouse in the oil painting. There is no one in the oil painting, only a flock of ducks on the grass with a farmhouse in the background. This painting is very big and beautiful. One day, their daughter Solvig came home from school and ate apples. She said it was given to her by a kind lady in the street. Solvig was not in bed the next morning. Her parents can't find her anywhere. Suddenly, her father shouted, "There she is! Solvig feeds the ducks! He pointed to the painting, and Solvig was really on it.

She stood on the grass and took bread crumbs from the basket and threw them to the ducks. Dad jumped in front of the painting to touch her, but it was useless. She is only part of the painting, painted on the canvas. "

"Grandma, did you see that picture with a little girl on it?"

"I've seen a lot," my grandmother said. "Strangely enough, Solvig Jr. always changes positions in his paintings.

One day, when she was in the farmhouse, she could be seen looking out of the window with her face exposed. A few days ago, she was on the left side of the painting, holding a duck. "

"Grandma, have you ever seen her move in the painting?"

"No one has seen it. No matter where she is, whether she is feeding ducks outside or looking out of the window, she is still, just an oil painting portrait. That's strange, "said my grandmother. "This is really strange. But the strangest thing is that she will grow with time in the painting. Ten years later, she changed from a little girl to a big girl. Thirty years later, she reached middle age. Fifty-four years after the incident, she suddenly disappeared from the painting. "

"You mean she's dead?" I said.

"Who knows!" My grandmother said, "There are some strange things in the witch's world."

"You have said it twice," I said. "So what happened to the third one?"

"The third is bill target? Svencen. My grandmother said, "She lives opposite my house. One day, she began to grow feathers all over her body. A month later, she became a big white chicken. Her parents kept her in a henhouse in the garden. She still lays eggs. "

"What color are the eggs?" I asked.

"Brown," said my grandmother, "is the biggest egg I have ever seen. Her mother used them to make fried eggs, which were delicious. "

I looked up at my grandmother, who sat there like an ancient queen sitting on a throne. Her eyes are gray, as if looking at something many miles away. At this time, only cigars are real things, and the blue smoke from cigars filled her head.

"But isn't the little girl who became a chicken missing?" I said.

"No, Burget is not missing. She lived for many years and laid brown eggs. "

"You said they were all gone."

"That's my fault," my grandmother said. "I am old. I can't remember it all. "

"What happened to the fourth child?" I asked.

"The fourth is a boy named Halad." My grandmother said, "One morning, his skin changed completely."

Grayish yellow, and then began to harden, like a shell. At night, he turned to stone. "

"Stone?" I said, "Are you serious about rocks?"

"Graham," she said, "I can take you to see him if you like. They still keep him in there.

In the house. He stood in the hall like a small stone statue. The guests leaned their umbrellas against him. "

Although I am still young, I am not prepared to believe everything my grandmother told me. But she spoke plausibly, solemnly, without smiling or blinking. I'm starting to hesitate.

"Go ahead, Grandma," I said. "You told me it was five. What happened to the last one? "

"Do you want to smoke my cigar?" She said.

"I'm only seven years old, grandma."

"I don't care how old you are," she said. "Smoking cigars won't catch a cold."

"Grandma, what happened to the fifth one?"

"Fifth," she said, chewing cigar butt like delicious asparagus, "that's a very interesting thing. He is a nine-year-old boy named Rafe who is spending his summer vacation with his family in the Bay. On this day, the whole family went on a picnic and swam on an island. Loi Siu dived into the water. His father looked at him on the shore and thought he had been underwater for a long time. When he finally surfaced, he was no longer Rafe. "

"What is he, Grandma?"

"It's a dolphin."

"Impossible! He can't be a dolphin! "

"He has become a lovely little dolphin," she said, "and very friendly."

"Grandma." I said.

"What's the matter, my little baby?"

"Did he really become a dolphin?"

"Of course," she said. "I know his mother very well. She told me everything. She said that Rafe's dolphins stayed with them all afternoon and let his brothers and sisters ride him in the water. They had a good time. Later, it shook its fins at them and swam away, never seeing it again. "

"But Grandma," I said, "how do they know that the dolphin is really Rafe?"

"He talks to them," my grandmother said. "When he let them ride, he kept laughing and telling jokes."

"When this happens, won't it be a big fight at that time?" I asked.

"It's not much trouble." My grandmother said, "Remember, this kind of thing is very common in Norway. Witches are everywhere now. Maybe there is one in our street. Now it's time for you to go to bed. "

"Won't the witch come in through my window at night?" I asked with a little trembling.

"No," my grandmother said, "witches never do such stupid things as climbing pipes and sneaking into other people's homes. You are absolutely safe in bed. Come on, let me tuck you in. "

Chapter III How to Identify Witches

The next night, grandma gave me a good bath and took me to the living room to tell her story.

"Tonight," said my grandmother, "I will tell you how to recognize a witch when you see her."

"Are you steady?" I asked.

"No," she said, "you can't. That's the trouble, but you can guess. "

Her knees were covered with cigar ash. I hope her clothes won't be burned before she tells me how to identify witches.

"First of all," she said, "when you see a real witch, she always wears gloves."

"Not always," I said. "How can you wear gloves in such a hot summer?"

"Even in summer," my grandmother said. "She must wear it. Do you want to know why? "

"Why?" I said.

"Because she has no nails, only slender and curved claws, like a cat. She must wear gloves to cover them.

I tell you, many distinguished ladies and gentlemen wear gloves, especially in winter, so it is difficult for you to recognize them by this. "

"Mom always wears gloves." I said.

"Don't wear it at home." My grandmother said, "But witches wear them even in the house. They don't just have sex.

Dai. "

"How do you know all this, Grandma?"

"Don't interrupt me," she said. "Just listen. The second thing is to remember that real witches are bald. "

"Bald man?" I said.

"Bald as a boiled egg." My grandmother said.

I was taken aback. Bald women are so disgraceful. "Why are they bald, Grandma?"

"Don't ask why." She snapped, "but remember, the witch doesn't even have a hair on her head."

"It's terrible!"

"disgusting." My grandmother said.

"Because she is bald, it is easy to recognize her." I said.

"It's not easy at all," my grandmother said. "A real witch always wears a wig to cover her bald head. That's a first-rate wig. A first-class wig can't be separated from real hair unless you pull it and see if you can pull it down. "

"Then I'll pull it." I said.

"Don't be silly," said my grandmother. "You can't see every lady pulling her hair, even if she is wearing gloves. Just pull it and see what happens. "

"So, it's no use." I said.

"It's no use looking at all these things separately," my grandmother said. "Only put them together to see interesting. I tell you, "my grandmother continued," this kind of wig has caused a lot of trouble to witches. "

"What's the matter, Grandma?"

"The scalp hurts badly." She said, "You know, actors wear wigs, or you and I wear wigs, and they wear them in their hair, and the witch wears them directly on her bald scalp. The bottom of the wig is always rough, which makes the bald scalp itch, itch and hurt. Witches call it "wig rash" It itches badly. "

"What else must you pay attention to when identifying witches?" I asked.

"Watch your nostrils," my grandmother said. "The witch's nostrils are bigger than ordinary people, and the edge is pink and curved, like the edge of a shell."

"Why do they want such big nostrils?" I asked.

"Smell," said my grandmother, "a real witch has the best sense of smell. She can smell the children across the street in the dark. "

"She can't smell me," I said. "I just took a shower."

"Oh, she can smell you," said my grandmother. "The cleaner the witch, the stronger the smell."

"This is impossible." I said.

"A completely clean child smells the worst," my grandmother said, "but the dirtier it is, the less fragrant it is."

"That doesn't make sense, Grandma."

"That makes sense." My grandmother said, "it's not dirty that witches want to hear, it's you." The witch is tracking the smell from your skin. Coming out like a wave, this wave witch is called smelly wave. It enters her nostrils through the air. They made her dizzy. "

"Wait a minute, grandma ..."

"Don't interrupt me," she said. "This is the main point. If you don't take a bath for a week, your skin is all dirty, and the odor wave is obviously not so strong. "

"Then I will never take a shower again." I said.

"Just wash less," my grandmother said. "For a clever child, washing once a month is enough."

Grandma said such a thing, and I love her even more.

"Grandma," I said, "how can a witch sniff out a child or an adult in the dark?"

"Because adults don't make odor waves," she said, "only children do."

"I won't set off a stinking wave, will I?" I said, "at this moment, I'm not making a stink, am I?"

"For me, yes." My grandmother said, "To me, you can only smell strawberries and cream." But for witches, your smell may be terrible. "

"What will you smell me?" I asked.

"The smell of shit." My grandmother said.

My head is spinning. I froze. "Shit!" I cried, "I don't smell shit! I don't believe it! I can't believe it! "

"Not only that," my grandmother said with a little thorn in her voice, "for witches, your smell is the smell of fresh dog shit."

"impossible!" I cried, "I know my smell can't be shit, old shit or new shit!" " "

"It's no use arguing," my grandmother said. "This is a fact."

I am very angry. I can hardly believe what my grandmother said to me.

"So, if you see a woman holding her nose when she walks past you in the street," she continued, "that woman may be a witch."

I decided to change the subject. "Tell the witch something else I should pay attention to." I said.

"Eyes," my grandmother said, "look at the eyes carefully, because the eyes of a real witch are different from yours and mine. Just look at the place where there are usually small black spots in your eyes. If it's a witch, the idea will keep changing colors. You can see fire and ice beating at the center of this idea. They give you goose bumps. "

My grandmother leaned back in her chair and smoked her smelly black cigar with satisfaction. I knelt on the floor and looked up at her, stunned. She didn't laugh. She looks very serious.

"Is there anything else?" I asked her.

"Of course," my grandmother said, "you don't seem to understand that witches are not women at all. They look like women. They talk like women. They pretend to be women in every move. But in fact they are completely different animals. They are demons dressed as adults, so they have claws, baldness, strange noses and strange eyes. They should try their best to hide these things from others. "

"What's so special about them, Grandma?"

"Feet," she said. "The witch's feet have no toes. "

"No toes?" I cried, "What do they have?"

"They only have feet," my grandmother said. "The feet are square-headed, and there are no toes on them."

"Is there a difference in walking?" I asked.

"There is no difference at all." My grandmother said, "but it makes their shoes a problem." All ladies and gentlemen love to wear thin pointed shoes, but the witch's feet are wide and square, so it's really miserable to squeeze into pointed shoes. "

"Then why doesn't she wear comfortable square shoes?" I asked.

"She wouldn't dare," my grandmother said. "It's like covering her bald head with a wig. She must cover her ugly witch's feet and squeeze them into beautiful shoes. "

"Isn't that terrible?" I said.

"It's unbearable," my grandmother said, "but she has to put up with it."

"I wouldn't recognize her if she wore ordinary shoes, grandma?"

"I'm afraid I can't recognize her," said my grandmother. "You have to look very carefully to see that she is a little lame."

"Are different places like this, Grandma?"

"One more thing," said my grandmother. "One more thing."

"What else, Grandma?"

"The saliva they spit is blue."

"Blue!" I cried, "it can't be blue!" Their saliva can't be blue! "

"Blue as the color of cranberries." She said.

"It's not true, grandma! No one will have blue saliva! "

"Witches have." She said.

"Like blue ink?" I asked.

"Exactly the same," she said. "They even write with it. They write with an old pen with a nib, and they can write by licking the nib. "

"Blue saliva can see you, grandma? The witch is talking to me. Can I have a look? "

"Only look carefully." My grandmother said.

"If you look carefully, you may see faint blue marks on her teeth, but you can't see them clearly."

"She can tell by spitting." I said.

"Witches never spit," my grandmother said. "They dare not spit."

I can't believe my grandmother would lie to me. She goes to church every morning, seven days a week, and prays before every meal. People who do this will not lie. I began to believe everything she said.

"Well," my grandmother said, "I can only tell you this. None of them are reliable. When you see a witch, you still can't tell whether she is a witch or not. But if she has all the features-gloves, big nostrils and strange eyes, fake hair and blue marks on her teeth-then you'd better run away. "

"Grandma," I said, "did you meet a witch when you were a child?"

"Once," my grandmother said, "just once."

"What's the matter?"

I won't tell you,' she said. "It will scare you and give you nightmares."

"Please tell me." I begged her.

"No," she said, "some things are terrible to say."

"Does this have anything to do with your lost thumb?" I asked.

Her wrinkled lips suddenly closed like a pair of pliers, and her cigar-holding hand (missing a thumb) began to tremble slightly.

I'll wait. She doesn't look at me. She doesn't talk. She stopped completely at once. This is the end of our conversation.

"Good night, Grandma." I stood up from the floor and kissed her cheek and said.

She didn't move. I slipped out of the living room and went back to my bedroom.

The fourth chapter the king of witches

The next day, a man in a black suit and carrying a briefcase came to grandma's house and had a long talk with her in the living room. I can't go in when he is here. Finally, he left, and my grandmother came to see me, walking slowly and looking sad.

"The man read your father's will." She said.