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[kennyli0302i]

What happened on those awkward, formal visits never varied. After the tea, the Master and the other few Scholars who'd been invited left Lyra and her uncle together,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and he called her to stand in front of him and tell him what she'd learned since his last visit. And she would mutter whatever she could dredge up about geometry or Arabic or history or anbarology, and he would sit back with one ankle resting on the other knee and watch her inscrutably until her words failed.
Last year, before his expedition to the North, he'd gone on to say, "And how do you spend your time when you're not diligently studying?"
And she mumbled, "I just play. Sort of around the College. Just...play, really."
And he said,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Let me see your hands,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], child."
She held out her hands for inspection, and he took them and turned them over to look at her fingernails. Beside him, his daemon lay sphinxlike on the carpet, swishing her tail occasionally and gazing unblinkingly at Lyra.
"Dirty,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]," said Lord Asriel, pushing her hands away. "Don't they make you wash in this place?"
"Yes," she said. "But the Chaplain's fingernails are always dirty. They're even dirtier than mine."