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Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she might explode if OT didn't believe in fairies.

Bernard flung out his arms. There were no fairies here, if only it was saturday night; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: freaks and tards in their nighties, and naked posters in their bedrooms eating cheetos from a cup.

"Do you believe?" he cried.

Amy sat up almost briskly to listen to her fate.

She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn't sure.

"What do you think?" she asked Bernard.

"If you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; don't let Amy die."

Many clapped.

Some didn't.

A few fuses hissed.

The clapping stopped suddenly; as if countless mothers had rushed to their basements to see what on earth Anti was doing; but already Amy was saved. First her voice grew strong, then she popped out of bed, then she was flashing through OT more merry and impudent than ever. She never thought of thanking those who believed, but she would have liked to get at the ones who had made the fuses hiss.