What is this?” he went on now, spearing an unfortunate object on a fork and raising it to eye level. “This… this… thing?”
“A parsnip?” Jem suggested.
“A parsnip planted in Satan’s own garden.” said Will. He glanced about. “I don’t suppose there’s a dog I could feed it to.”
“There don’t seem to be any pets about,” Jem—who loved all animals, even the inglorious and ill-tempered Church—observed.
“Probably all poisoned by parsnips,” said Will.

Autor: Cassandra Clare