Book Openings Answers
  
Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy.
    
    The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe by C .S. Lewis
    
  
  
  Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were
    perfectly normal, thank you very much.
    
    Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone by J.K. Rowling
    
  
  
  In the week before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had
    reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy,
    Paul. 
    
    Dune - Frank Herbert
  
  
  No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world
    was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal
    as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were
    scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might
    scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water
    
    The War of the Worlds - H.G. Wells
  
  
  If you want to find Cherry Tree Lane all you have to do is ask a policeman at the
    Crossroads. 
    
    Mary Poppins - P.L. Travers
  
  
  The great fish moved silently through the night water, propelled by short sweeps of its
    crescent tail.
    
    Jaws - Peter Benchley
  
  
  The drought had lasted now for ten million years, and the reign of the terrible lizards
    had long since ended. 
    
    2001: A Space Odyssey - Arthur C. Clarke
  
  
  The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home.
    
    
    The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
  
  
  Most motorcars are conglomerations (this is a long word for bundles) of steel and wire
    and rubber and plastic, and electricity and oil and gasoline and water, and the toffee
    papers you pushed down the crack in the back seat last Sunday. 
    
    Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang - Ian Fleming
  
  
  It was seven o'clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when Father Wolf woke
    up from his day's rest, scratched himself, yawned, and spread out his paws one after the
    other to get rid of the sleepy feeling in their tips. 
    
    The Jungle Book - Rudyard Kipling
    
  
  
  It is a curious thing that at my age, fifty-five last birthday, I should find myself
    taking up a pen to try and write a history. 
    
    King Solomon's Mines - H.R. Haggard 
    
  
  
  "Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the
    rug. 
    
    Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
    
  
  
  These two very old people are the father and mother of Mr. Bucket. 
    
    Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
    
  
  
  A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories. Over the main entrance the words,
    CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND CONDITIONING CENTRE, and in a shield, the World State's motto,
    Community, Identity, Stability.
    
    Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
  
  
  It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. 
    
    1984 - George Orwell
  
  
  Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. 
    
    A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
  
  
  James Bond, with two double bourbons inside him, sat back in the final departure lounge
    of Miami Airport and thought about life and death. 
    
    Goldfinger - Ian Fleming
  
  
  Early in the spring of 1750, in the village of Juffure, four days upriver from the coast
    of Gambia, West Africa, a manchild was born to Omoro and Binta Kinte. 
    
    Roots - Alex Haley
  
  
  I was leaning against a bar in a speak-easy on Fifty-second Street, waiting for Nora to
    finish her Christmas shopping, when a girl got up from the table where she had been
    sitting with three other people and came over to me. 
    
    The Thin Man - Dashiell Hammett 
    
  
  
  Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not
    infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table
    .
    The Hound of the Baskervilles - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle