This time Polly took the lead. There was something in this room which interested her more than it interested Digory： all the figures were wearing magnificent clothes. If you were interested in clothes at all， you could hardly help going in to see them closer. And the blaze of their colours made this room look， not exactly cheerful， but at any rate rich and majestic after all the dust and emptiness of the others. It had more windows， too， and was a good deal lighter.
I can hardly describe the clothes. The figures were all robed and had crowns on their heads. Their robes were of crimson and silvery grey and deep purple and vivid green： and there were patterns， and pictures of flowers and strange beasts， in needlework all over them. Precious stones of astonishing size and brightness stared from their crowns and hung in chains round their necks and peeped out from all the places where anything was fastened.
“Why haven‘t these clothes all rotted away long ago？” asked Polly.
“Magic，” whispered Digory. “Can’t you feel it？ I bet this whole room is just stiff with enchantments. I could feel it the moment we came in.”
“Any one of these dresses would cost hundreds of pounds，” said Polly.
