The Trunchbull was standing in front of the class, legs apart, hands on hips, scowling at Miss Honey who stood silent to one side.
Matilda, sitting motionless at her desk in the second row, was watching things very closely.
“You!” the Trunchbull shouted, pointing a finger the size of a rolling-pin at a boy called Wilfred.
Wilfred was on the extreme right of the front row. “Stand up, you!” she shouted at him. Wilfred stood up.
“Recite the three-times table backwards!” the Trunchbull barked. “Backwards?” stammered Wilfred.
“But I haven't learnt it backwards.” “There you are!” cried the Trunchbull, triumphant. “She's taught you nothing!”
“Miss Honey, why have you taught them absolutely nothing at all in the last week?”
“That is not true, Headmistress,” Miss Honey said. “They have all learnt their three-times table.”
“But I see no point in teaching it to them backwards. There is little point in teaching anything backwards.”
“The whole object of life, Headmistress, is to go forwards. I venture to ask whether even you,”
“for example, can spell a simple word like wrong backwards straight away. I very much doubt it.”
“Don't you get impertinent with me, Miss Honey!” the Trunchbull snapped, then she turned back to the unfortunate Wilfred.
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