and you had to watch where you put your feet if you didn't want to twist your ankle.
There were a few small birds around in the hazel branches but that was all.
“It's just a farm-labourer's cottage,” Miss Honey said. “You mustn't expect too much of it. We're nearly there.”
They came to a small green gate half-buried in the hedge on the right and almost hidden by the overhanging hazel branches.
Miss Honey paused with one hand on the gate and said, “There it is. That's where I live.”
Matilda saw a narrow dirt-path leading to a tiny red-brick cottage.
The cottage was so small it looked more like a doll's house than a human dwelling.
The bricks it was built of were old and crumbly and very pale red.
It had a grey slate roof and one small chimney, and there were two little windows at the front.
Each window was no larger than a sheet of tabloid newspaper and there was clearly no upstairs to the place.
On either side of the path there was a wilderness of nettles and blackberry thorns and long brown grass.
An enormous oak tree stood overshadowing the cottage.
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