Oh dear, said the nice Wendy, I don t mean a kiss, I mean a
thimble.
What s that?
It s like this. She kissed him.
Funny! said Peter gravely. Now shall I give you a thimble?
If you wish to, said Wendy, keeping her head erect this time.
Peter thimbled her, and almost immediately she screeched. What is it,
Wendy?
It was exactly as if someone were pulling my hair.
That must have been Tink. I never knew her so naughty before.
And indeed Tink was darting about again, using offensive language.
She says she will do that to you, Wendy, every time I give you a
thimble.
But why?
Why, Tink?
Again Tink replied, You silly ass. Peter could not understand why,
but Wendy understood, and she was just slightly disappointed when he
admitted that he came to the nursery window not to see her but to
listen to stories.
You see, I don t know any stories. None of the lost boys knows any
stories.
How perfectly awful, Wendy said.
Do you know, Peter asked why swallows build in the eaves of houses?
It is to listen to the stories. O Wendy, your mother was telling you
such a lovely story.
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