e subjects. This
morning, it was motorcycles.
"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said,
as a motorcycle overtook them.
I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering
suddenly. "It was flying."
Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned
right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a
gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"
Dudley and Piers sniggered.
I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."
But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing
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