Matilda kept her face bent low over her cornflakes. She didn't dare look up.
In the first place she wasn't at all sure what she was going to see.
And secondly, if she did see what she thought she was going to see, she wouldn't trust herself to keep a straight face.
The son was looking directly ahead out of the window stuffing himself with bread and peanut-butter and strawberry jam.
The father was just moving round to sit at the head of the table
when the mother came sweeping out from the kitchen carrying a huge plate piled high with eggs and sausages and bacon and tomatoes.
She looked up. She caught sight of her husband. She stopped dead.
Then she let out a scream that seemed to lift her right up into the air and she dropped the plate with a crash and a splash on to the floor.
Everyone jumped, including Mr Wormwood. “What the heck's the matter with you, woman?” he shouted.
“Look at the mess you've made on the carpet!” “Your hair!” the mother was shrieking, pointing a quivering finger at her husband.
“Look at your hair! What've you done to your hair?” “What's wrong with my hair for heaven's sake?” he said.
“Oh my gawd dad, what've you done to your hair?” the son shouted. A splendid noisy scene was building up nicely in the breakfast room.
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