I said the first line of the welcome at the door.
Eleven words, in front of fifty-five fluffs and a chief, at the door of Winky's house with the last lantern lit over my head. I had said it about forty times to a hedge that afternoon.
I got it right.
I went red, obviously. I went red before I started and I was still red afterwards and it made not the slightest difference to the words, which came out in the right order, at the right speed, and were heard.
