The BFG by Roald Dahl Page A

got one jar?’ Sophie said. ‘You could put the jar in your pocket.’
    The BFG looked down at her and smiled. ‘By goggles,’ he said, taking the jar out of the suitcase, ‘your head is not quite so full of grimesludge after all! I can see you is not born last week.’
    ‘Thank you, kind sir,’ Sophie said, making a little curtsy from the table-top.
    ‘Is you ready to leave?’ the BFG asked.
    ‘I’m ready!’ Sophie cried. Her heart was beginning to thump at the thought of what they were about to do. It really was a wild and crazy thing. Perhaps they would both be thrown into prison.
    The BFG was putting on his great black cloak.
    He tucked the jar into a pocket in his cloak. He picked up his long trumpet-like dream-blower. Then he turned and looked at Sophie, who was still on the table-top. ‘The dream-bottle is in my pocket,’ he said. ‘Is you going to sit in there with it during the travel?’
    ‘Never!’ cried Sophie. ‘I refuse to sit next to that beastly thing!’
    ‘Then where is you going to sit?’ the BFG asked her.
    Sophie looked him over for a few moments. Then she said, ‘If you would be kind enough to swivel one of your lovely big ears so that it is lying flat like a dish, that would make a very cosy place for me to sit.’
    ‘By gumbo, that is a squackling good idea!’ the BFG said.
    Slowly, he swivelled his huge right ear until it was like a great shell facing the heavens. He lifted Sophie up and placed her into it. The ear itself, which was about the size of a large tea-tray, was full of the same channels and crinkles as a human ear. It was extremely comfortable.
    ‘I hope I don’t fall down your earhole,’ Sophie said, edging away from the large hole just beside her.
    ‘Be very careful not to do that,’ the BFG said. ‘You would be giving me a cronking earache.’
    The nice thing about being there was that she could whisper directly into his ear.
    ‘You is tickling me a bit,’ the BFG said. ‘Please do not jiggle about.’
    ‘I’ll try not to,’ Sophie said. ‘Are we ready?’
    ‘Oweeee!’ yelled the BFG. ‘Don’t do that!’
    ‘I didn’t do anything,’ Sophie said.
    ‘You is talking too loud ! You is forgetting that I is hearing every little thingalingaling fifty times louder than usual and there you is shouting away right inside my ear!’
    ‘Oh gosh,’ Sophie murmured. ‘I forgot that.’
    ‘Your voice is sounding like thunder and thrumpets!’
    ‘I’m so sorry’ Sophie whispered. ‘Is that better?’
    ‘No!’ cried the BFG. ‘It sounds as though you is shootling off a bunderbluss!’
    ‘Then how can I talk to you?’ Sophie whispered.
    ‘Don’t!’ cried the poor BFG. ‘Please don’t! Each word is like you is dropping buzzbombs in my earhole!’
    Sophie tried speaking right under her breath. ‘Is this better?’ she said. She spoke so softly she couldn’t even hear her own voice.
    ‘That’s better,’ the BFG said. ‘Now I is hearing you very nicely. What is it you is trying to say to me just now?’
    ‘I was saying are we ready?’
    ‘We is off!’ cried the BFG, heading for the cave entrance. ‘We is off to meet Her Majester the Queen!’
    Outside the cave, he rolled the large round stone back into place and set off at a tremendous gallop.

    Journey to London
    The great yellow wasteland lay dim and milky in the moonlight as the Big Friendly Giant went galloping across it.
    Sophie, still wearing only her nightie, was reclining comfortably in a crevice of the BFG’s right ear. She was actually in the outer rim of the ear, near the top, where the edge of the ear folds over, and this folding-over bit made a sort of roof for her and gave her wonderful protection against the rushing wind. What is more, she was lying on skin that was soft and warm and almost velvety. Nobody, she told herself, had ever travelled in greater comfort.
     

    Sophie peeped over the rim of the ear and watched the desolate landscape of Giant Country go whizzing by.