The tin woodman and his friends stood there, frankly staring at the king of the city of books, but ignoring the fact that he was the ruler. There never was a greater mistake.
He jumped out to dump the last of the embers, bury them carefully in the sand, and stow the gear in the back of the jeep.
Such chips of thought as he could distinguish told him that the ideas he heard were of a high moral order, the ones he had always accepted, and therefore no evil could come to him from that, no evil could be intended. Perhaps mr gringle is somewhere about, whatever old mrs janes says.