It Seems To Me Further,

Laughter Went On And On, Like Sunlight And Stone, Even If The Human Beings Who Laughed Did Not.

The Touch Of Evil Poisons By The Idea Of It. Reject The Idea, And You've Rejected The Evil

Everything Was An Adventure, At Night, When You Were Where You Shouldn't Be, Even If It Was Somwhere You Could Go Perfectly Well In Daylight, And It Was Then Only Ordinary.

She Poured The Water, Arranged Some Bread Near Enough The Embers To Scorch But Not Catch Fire, And Looked Up At Little John. She Was So Accustomed To His Step, To His Bulk, That It Took A Moment To Notice His Face; And When She Did . . . It Was, She Thought, Rather Like The Moment It Took To Realize One Had Cut One's Finger As One Stared Dumbly At The First Drop Of Blood On The Knife-blade. You Know It Is Going To Hurt Quite A Lot In A Minute.

What I Write, If You Have To Label It, Is Crossover, And I Think That Much Of The Stuff That Is Called Children's Or Ya Is In Fact Crossover And Is Equally Valid For Anyone Who Likes To Read Fantasy.