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There was an easy way of answering that. Lyra-over Roger's fervent protests-picked out the oldest, twistiest,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], greenest bottle she could find, and, not having anything to extract the cork with, broke it off at the neck. Huddled in the furthest corner, they sipped at the heady crimson liquor, wondering when they'd become drunk,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and how they'd tell when they were. Lyra didn't like the taste much,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but she had to admit how grand and complicated it was. The funniest thing was watching their two daemons, who seemed to be getting more and more muddled: falling over, giggling senselessly, and changing shape to look like gargoyles,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], each trying to be uglier than the other.
Finally, and almost simultaneously, the children discovered what it was like to be drunk.
"Do they like doing this?" gasped Roger, after vomiting copiously.
"Yes," said Lyra, in the same condition. "And so do I," she added stubbornly.

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