“Very well, boy,” she said. “Answer me this. I have seven apples, seven oranges and seven bananas.”
“How many pieces of fruit do I have altogether? Hurry up! Get on with it! Give me the answer!”
“That's adding up!” Wilfred cried. “That isn't the three-times table!” “You blithering idiot!” shouted the Trunchbull.
“You festering gumboil! You fleabitten fungus! That is the three-times table!”
You have three separate lots of fruit and each lot has seven pieces. Three sevens are twenty-one.”
Can't you see that, you stagnant cesspool! I'll give you one more chance.
I have eight coconuts, eight monkey-nuts and eight nutty little idiots like you. How many nuts do I have altogether? Answer me quickly.
Poor Wilfred was properly flustered. “Wait!” he cried. “Please wait! I've got to add up eight coconuts and eight monkey-nuts...”
He started counting on his fingers. “You bursting blister!” yelled the Trunchbull. “You moth-eaten maggot! This is not adding up!”
“This is multiplication! The answer is three eights! Or is it eight threes?”
“What is the difference between three eights and eight threes? Tell me that, you mangled little wurzel and look sharp about it!”
By now Wilfred was far too frightened and bewildered even to speak.
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