Choose the correct alternative.
Both girls in terror at the seagull sitting outside the windowsill. It in at them, blinking every now and with fiery, red eyes. “I can see into it,” whispered Gemma. “I can see gizzards. It’s transparent.”
The lonely bird stared, pleaded with them and then crouched on its single leg and flapped into the moonlight.
Before either girl speak, a soft pitter-patter began the tin roof. Soon it grew louder until the shack filled with a drumming.
“What a storm,” yelled Gemma.
“It’s not a storm,” Tracy back. It’s the birds. The seagulls returned. They are bombing the house.” She stared in horror the ghostly flock that the darkness with ghastly white rain.
