Slowly Matilda sat down. Oh, the rottenness of it all! The unfairness!
How dare they expel her for something she hadn't done!
Matilda felt herself getting angrier... and angrier... and angrier... so unbearably angry that something was bound to explode inside her very soon.
The newt was still squirming in the tall glass of water. It looked horribly uncomfortable. The glass was not big enough for it.
Matilda glared at the Trunchbull. How she hated her. She glared at the glass with the newt in it.
She longed to march up and grab the glass and tip the contents, newt and all, over the Trunchbull's head.
She trembled to think what the Trunchbull would do to her if she did that.
The Trunchbull was sitting behind the teacher's table staring with a mixture of horror and fascination at the newt wriggling in the glass.
Matilda's eyes were also riveted on the glass. And now, quite slowly, there began to creep over Matilda a most extraordinary and peculiar feeling.
The feeling was mostly in the eyes. A kind of electricity seemed to be gathering inside them.
A sense of power was brewing in those eyes of hers, a feeling of great strength was settling itself deep inside her eyes.
But there was also another feeling which was something else altogether, and which she could not understand.
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