For Mathilda in New York
Peregrine clanked and squeaked all the way to Hildegard’s house. He hadn’t oiled his armour for about three weeks and it had been raining.
One more thing to deal with, he thought crossly. Really, he had far too much on his plate at the moment. Something would have to be done. Luckily, before he had a chance to think about what that thing might be, he went through the doorway into Hildegard’s garden and immediately came across Griselda, who was sitting under a tree.
‘Hello, Gris,’ said Peregrine.
‘Hello, Peregrine,’ said Griselda.
‘What’s up? You look a bit-’
‘Yes, well you’d look a bit like that too if you were me.’ And she sniffed.
‘Oh really? Why’s that?’
‘Invaders,’ said the cat, gloomily.
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