and then, by raising her muscular right arm, she lifted the helpless boy clean out of his chair and held him aloft.
Rupert yelled. He twisted and squirmed and kicked the air and went on yelling like a stuck pig,
and Miss Trunchbull bellowed, “Two sevens are fourteen! Two sevens are fourteen! I am not letting you go till you say it!”
From the back of the class, Miss Honey cried out, “Miss Trunchbull! Please let him down! You're hurting him! All his hair might come out!”
“And well it might if he doesn't stop wriggling!” snorted the Trunchbull. “Keep still, you squirming worm!”
It really was a quite extraordinary sight to see this giant Headmistress dangling the small boy high in the air
and the boy spinning and twisting like something on the end of a string and shrieking his head off.
“Say it!” bellowed the Trunchbull. “Say two sevens are fourteen!
Hurry up or I'll start jerking you up and down and then your hair really will come out and we'll have enough of it to stuff a sofa!
Get on with it boy! Say two sevens are fourteen and I'll let you go!”
“T-t-two s-sevens are f-f-fourteen,” gasped Rupert, whereupon the Trunchbull, true to her word, opened her hand and quite literally let him go.
He was a long way off the ground when she released him and he plummeted to earth and hit the floor and bounced like a football.
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