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On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.
“No post on Sundays,” he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, “no damn letters today—” Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one — “Out! OUT!” Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.
"今天没有信件。"他开心得把应该涂在面包上的蜜糖酱往报纸上涂。"今天没有那些该死的信件——"在他说话的时候，厨房的烟囱一直飕飕作响，接着有什么东西突然砸在了他的后脑勺上。再下来，三十或者四十封信像子弹一样从烟囱里飞了下来。德思礼一家吓得躲到了一边，哈利趁机跳起来去抓信——"出去！给我出去！"弗农姨父把哈利拦腰抱起丢进了客厅。佩妮姨妈和达力抱着脸跑出了厨房，弗农姨父砰的一声把门关上了。他们还可以听到那些信通过烟囱掉在墙上和地板上的声音。“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. “I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!” He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.
They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.
“Shake ‘em off… shake ‘em off,” he would mutter whenever he did this. "甩掉他们……甩掉他们。"弗农姨父自言自语地说。
They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.
Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering…
They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.
“'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an ‘undred of these at the front desk.” She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:Mr. H. Potter Room 17 Railview Hotel Cokeworth. Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.
“I'll take them,” said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.
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