“Sit down, my dear, sit down,” she said, “and we'll have a nice hot cup of tea. Help yourself to bread. Both slices are for you.”
“I never eat anything when I get home. I have a good old tuck-in at the school lunch and that keeps me going until the next morning.”
Matilda perched herself carefully on an upturned box
and more out of politeness than anything else she took a slice of bread and margarine and started to eat it.
At home she would have been having buttered toast and strawberry jam and probably a piece of sponge-cake to round it off.
And yet this was somehow far more fun. There was a mystery here in this house, a great mystery,
there was no doubt about that, and Matilda was longing to find out what it was.
Miss Honey poured the tea and added a little milk to both cups.
She appeared to be not in the least ill at ease sitting on an upturned box in a bare room
and drinking tea out of a mug that she balanced on her knee.
“You know,” she said, “I've been thinking very hard about what you did with that glass.”
“It is a great power you have been given, my child, you know that.”
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