“Eric what?” the Trunchbull shouted. “Ink,” the boy said. “Don't be an ass, boy! There's no such name!”
“Look in the phone book,” Eric said. “You'll see my father there under Ink.”
“Very well, then,” the Trunchbull said, “You may be Ink, young man, but let me tell you something.
You're not indelible. I'll very soon rub you out if you try getting clever with me. Spell what.
“I don't understand,” Eric said. “What do you want me to spell?” “Spell what, you idiot! Spell the word ‘what’!”
“W... O... T,” Eric said, answering too quickly. There was a nasty silence.
“I'll give you one more chance,” the Trunchbull said, not moving. “Ah yes, I know,” Eric said. “It's got an H in it. W... H... O... T. It's easy.”
In two large strides the Trunchbull was behind Eric's desk, and there she stood, a pillar of doom towering over the helpless boy.
Eric glanced fearfully back over his shoulder at the monster. “I was right, wasn't I?” he murmured nervously.
“You were wrong!” the Trunchbull barked. “In fact you strike me as the sort of poisonous little pockmark that will always be wrong!
You sit wrong! You look wrong! You speak wrong! You are wrong all round! I will give you one more chance to be right! Spell ‘what’!”
Eric hesitated. Then he said very slowly, “It's not W... O... T, and it's not W... H... O... T. Ah, I know.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색