and the parents looked upon Matilda in particular as nothing more than a scab.
A scab is something you have to put up with until the time comes when you can pick it off and flick it away.
Mr and Mrs Wormwood looked forward enormously to the time when they could pick their little daughter off and flick her away,
preferably into the next county or even further than that.
It is bad enough when parents treat ordinary children as though they were scabs and bunions,
but it becomes somehow a lot worse when the child in question is extraordinary, and by that I mean sensitive and brilliant.
Matilda was both of these things, but above all she was brilliant.
Her mind was so nimble and she was so quick to learn that her ability should have been obvious even to the most half-witted of parents.
But Mr and Mrs Wormwood were both so gormless and so wrapped up in their own silly little lives
that they failed to notice anything unusual about their daughter.
To tell the truth, I doubt they would have noticed had she crawled into the house with a broken leg.
Matilda's brother Michael was a perfectly normal boy, but the sister, as I said, was something to make your eyes pop.
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