“She's fainted!” she cried. “She's out cold! Someone go and fetch the matron at once.”
Three children ran out of the room. Nigel, always ready for action, leapt up and seized the big jug of water.
“My father says cold water is the best way to wake up someone who's fainted,” he said,
and with that he tipped the entire contents of the jug over the Trunchbull's head. No one, not even Miss Honey, protested.
As for Matilda, she continued to sit motionless at her desk. She was feeling curiously elated.
She felt as though she had touched something that was not quite of this world, the highest point of the heavens, the farthest star.
She had felt most wonderfully the power surging up behind her eyes, gushing like a warm fluid inside her skull,
and her eyes had become scorching hot, hotter than ever before, and things had come bursting out of her eye-sockets
and then the piece of chalk had lifted itself up and had begun to write.
It seemed as though she had hardly done anything, it had all been so simple.
The school matron, followed by five teachers, three women and two men, came rushing into the room.
“By golly, somebody's floored her at last!” cried one of the men, grinning.
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