Digory had almost picked up the yellow ring when he suddenly checked himself.
“Look here，” he said. “What about Mother？ Supposing she asks where I am？”
“The sooner you go， the sooner you’ll be back，” said Uncle Andrew cheerfully.
“But you don‘t really know whether I can get back.”
Uncle Andrew shrugged his shoulders， walked across to the door， unlocked it， threw it open， and said：
“Oh， very well then. Just as you please. Go down and have your dinner. Leave the little girl to be eaten by wild animals or drowned or starved in Otherworld or lost there for good， if that’s what you prefer. It‘s all one to me. Perhaps before tea time you’d better drop in on Mrs Plummer and explain that she‘ll never see her daughter again； because you were afraid to put on a ring.”
“By gum，” said Digory， “don’t I just wish I was big enough to punch your head！”
Then he buttoned up his coat， took a deep breath， and picked up the ring. And he thought then， as he always thought afterwards too， that he could not decently have done anything else.
The Wood Between The Worlds