On her feet she wore flat-heeled brown brogues with leather flaps.
She looked, in short, more like a rather eccentric and bloodthirsty follower of the stag-hounds than the headmistress of a nice school for children.
When Miss Honey entered the study, Miss Trunchbull was standing beside her huge desk with a look of scowling impatience on her face.
“Yes, Miss Honey,” she said. “What is it you want?”
You’re looking very flushed and flustered this morning. What’s the matter with you?
Have those little stinkers been flicking spitballs at you?
No, Headmistress. Nothing like that.” “Well, what is it then? Get on with it. I’m a busy woman.
As she spoke, she reached out and poured herself a glass of water from a jug that was always on her desk.
There is a little girl in my class called Matilda Wormwood...Miss Honey began.
That's the daughter of the man who owns Wormwood Motors in the village,Miss Trunchbull barked.
She hardly ever spoke in a normal voice. She either barked or shouted.
“An excellent person, Wormwood,” she went on. “I was in there only yesterday.”
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