“We don't keep them in the house.” “I see,” Miss Honey said. “Well, all I came to tell you was that Matilda has a brilliant mind.”
“But I expect you knew that already.” “Of course I knew she could read,” the mother said.
“She spends her life up in her room buried in some silly book.”
“But does it not intrigue you”, Miss Honey said, “that a little five-year-old child is reading long adult novels by Dickens and Hemingway?”
“Doesn't that make you jump up and down with excitement?” “Not particularly,” the mother said.
“I'm not in favour of blue-stocking girls. A girl should think about making herself look attractive so she can get a good husband later on.”
“Looks is more important than books, Miss Hunky...” “The name is Honey,” Miss Honey said.
“Now look at me,” Mrs Wormwood said. “Then look at you. You chose books. I chose looks.”
Miss Honey looked at the plain plump person with the smug suet-pudding face who was sitting across the room.
“What did you say?” she asked. “I said you chose books and I chose looks,” Mrs Wormwood said.
“And who's finished up the better off? Me, of course.”
I'm sitting pretty in a nice house with a successful businessman and you're left slaving away teaching a lot of nasty little children the ABC.
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