He did everything as if he were doing it for the first time.
"I had nothing but the _Morning Post_ to wrap it in," he murmured.

"I'm afraid that may have spoilt the magic a little." It was the dragon finally who produced the necessary light.

After watching Richard with the anxious sympathy of one ineffectual for another, it said: "Let me," and kindly breathed out a little flame, which set the packet aflare for a moment.
The ashes fluttered down from Richard's hand among the beans, and a thin violet stalk of smoke went up.
Sarah Brown smelt the unmistakable sour smell of magic, and saw soundless words moving Richard's little khaki moustache.

Then she found that she had disappeared.
She had never done this before, she had always been present to disturb and interrupt herself.

She had never seen the world before, except through the little glazed peepholes, called eyes, through which her everyday self rather wistfully believed that it could see.