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Hermione
Like a wolf's, you know, when it gallops across the waste places—under the stars, alone!
And the way he eats! I don't mean that he's noisy, you know. But the way he crunched a chicken bone the last time he dined with me was perfectly wonderful—so nonchalant, you know, and loudly and—and—well, primitive! I'm sure he's one!
I wouldn't go autoing with him for anything—unless, of course, he gave me one of those compelling glances, like Cave Men do in the magazines, you know. Then I'd know it was destiny and useless to resist.
