“Get up and stop whimpering,” the Trunchbull barked. Rupert got up and went back to his desk massaging his scalp with both hands.
The Trunchbull returned to the front of the class. The children sat there hypnotised. None of them had seen anything quite like this before.
It was splendid entertainment. It was better than a pantomime, but with one big difference.
In this room there was an enormous human bomb in front of them which was liable to explode and blow someone to bits any moment.
The children's eyes were riveted on the Headmistress. “I don't like small people,” she was saying. “Small people should never be seen by anybody.
“They should be kept out of sight in boxes like hairpins and buttons.”
“I cannot for the life of me see why children have to take so long to grow up. I think they do it on purpose.”
Another extremely brave little boy in the front row spoke up and said, “But surely you were a small person once, Miss Trunchbull, weren't you?”
“I was never a small person,” she snapped. “I have been large all my life and I don't see why others can't be the same way.”
“But you must have started out as a baby,” the boy said.
“Me! A baby!” shouted the Trunchbull. “How dare you suggest such a thing! What cheek! What infernal insolence! What's your name, boy?
And stand up when you speak to me!” The boy stood up. “My name is Eric Ink, Miss Trunchbull,” he said.
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