The pale daylight that entered came from a single tiny window in the front wall, but there were no curtains.
The only objects in the entire room were two upturned wooden boxes to serve as chairs and a third box between them for a table.
That was all. There were no pictures on the walls, no carpet on the floor, only rough unpolished wooden planks,
and there were gaps between the planks where dust and bits of grime had gathered.
The ceiling was so low that with a jump Matilda could nearly touch it with her finger-tips.
The walls were white but the whiteness didn't look like paint.
Matilda rubbed her palm against it and a white powder came off on to her skin.
It was whitewash, the cheap stuff that is used in cowsheds and stables and hen-houses.
Matilda was appalled. Was this really where her neat and trimly dressed school teacher lived?
Was this all she had to come back to after a day's work? It was unbelievable.
And what was the reason for it? There was something very strange going on around here, surely.
Miss Honey put the tray on one of the upturned boxes.
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