After that all happened quickly. There was a wild cry， a swishing， dusty， gravelly noise， a rattle of stones， and Jill found herself sliding， sliding， hopelessly sliding， and sliding quicker every moment down a slope that grew steeper every moment. It was not a smooth， firm slope， but a slope of small stones and rubbish. Even if you could have stood up， it would have been no use. Any bit of that slope you had put your foot on would have slid away from under you and carried you down with it. But Jill was more lying than standing. And the further they all slid， the more they disturbed all the stones and earth， so that the general downward rush of everything （including themselves） got faster and louder and dustier and dirtier. From the sharp cries and swearing of the other two， Jill got the idea that many of the stones which she was dislodging were hitting Scrubb and Puddleglum pretty hard. And now she was going at a furious rate and felt sure she would be broken to bits at the bottom.
