The Champion of the World by Roald Dahl ALL day, in between serving customers, we had been crouching over the table in the office of the filling station, preparing the raisins. They were plump and soft and swollen from being soaked in water, and when you nicked them with a razor-blade the skin sprang open and the jelly stuff inside squeezed out as easily as you could wish. But we had a hundred and ninety-six of them to do altogether and the evening was nearly upon us before we had finished. "Don't they look marvellous!" Claud cried, rubbing his hands together hard. "What time is it, Gordon?" "Just after five." Through the window we could see a stationwagon pulling up at the pumps with a woman at the wheel and about eight children in the back eating ice-creams. "We ought to be moving soon," Claud said. The whole thing'll be a washout if we don't arrive before sunset, you realize that...