So they got up and moved swiftly on. They began moving through Harry's own personal House of Horrors. Here he was in the kitchen, having his hand held over the flame of the cooker still his skin sizzled; now in the garden being back-handed so firmly that he was sent toppling over the wooden bench; then he was spooning peas onto the plate of an important client of his Uncle's drill firm, while his own stomach churned and clenched with his own abominable hunger.