Out of the village she ran, and soon they were racing across moonlit fields. The hedges dividing the fields were no problem to the giantess. She simply strode over them. A wide river appeared in her path. She crossed it in one easy stride. After a while, a frightening thought came into Charlie’s head. 

“The giantess is running fast, because she is hungry, and she wants to get home as quickly as possible, and then she’ll have me for supper.”

In the moonlight, he saw the giantess reach a gigantic beanstalk, and begin to climb it. Soon the giantess reached the top and took him to her room in a gigantic castle. There she put Charlie down on something, presumably a cupboard top.

“She is probably getting ready to eat me,” Charlie thought, “She will probably eat me raw, just as I am.”

A blaze of light suddenly lit up the whole room. She had turned on her light. Charlie blinked and stared. 

“Ha!” said the giantess, walking forward and rubbing her hands together, “What have I got here?”

The giantess picked up the trembling Charlie in one hand and carried him across the room and put him on her desk.

“Now she really is going to eat me,” Charlie thought.

The giantess sat down and stared hard at Charlie.

“I am hungry,” she said.

She smiled, showing nice even teeth.

“Please don’t eat me,” Charlie stammered.

The giantess let out a soft laugh.

“Just because I am a giantess, you think I am a boy gobbling giantess,” she said, “You are right. Giantesses are all eaters. They do gobble up little boys. We are in my late parents’ castle now. My two giant sisters are around, and nearby lives Miss Yoop. She likes to gobble boys from England.”

“I imagine that is possible,” said Charlie, who was wondering what this talk of eating boys was leading up to. Whatever happened, he simply must play along with this giantess and smile at her jokes. Were they jokes. Perhaps this giantess was working up an appetite by talking about food.

“As I was saying,” the giantess went on, “All boys have different flavours.”

“Do you like vegetables?” Charlie asked, hoping to steer the conversation towards a slightly less dangerous kind of food. 

“You are trying to change the subject,” said the giantess sternly, “We are having an interesting discussion about the taste of the little boy. The little boy is not a vegetable.”

Charlie didn’t argue anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was make the giantess cross.

“The little boy comes in many different flavours,” said the giantess, “For instance, little boys from Wales taste of fish. There is something very fishy about Wales. Little boys from England leave a pleasing sensation on the tongue.”

Charlie decided that this conversation had gone on long enough. If he was going to be eaten, then he would rather get it over and done with right away.

“What sort of little boys do YOU eat?” he asked, trembling.