Its massive spreading branches seemed to be enfolding and embracing the tiny building, and perhaps hiding it as well from the rest of the world.
Miss Honey, with one hand on the gate which she had not yet opened, turned to Matilda and said,
A poet called Dylan Thomas once wrote some lines that I think of every time I walk up this path.”
Matilda waited, and Miss Honey, in a rather wonderful slow voice, began reciting the poem:
“Never and never, my girl riding far and near In the land of the hearthstone tales, and spelled asleep,”
“Fear or believe that the wolf in the sheepwhite hood Loping and bleating roughly and blithely shall leap,”
“my dear, my dear, Out of a lair in the flocked leaves in the dew dipped year”
To eat your heart in the house in the rosy wood.”
There was a moment of silence, and Matilda, who had never before heard great romantic poetry spoken aloud, was profoundly moved.
“It's like music,” she whispered. “It is music,” Miss Honey said.
And then, as though embarrassed at having revealed such a secret part of herself, she quickly pushed open the gate and walked up the path.
Matilda hung back. She was a bit frightened of this place now.
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