Right from the first day of term the two of them started wandering round together during the morning-break and in the lunch-hour.
Lavender was exceptionally small for her age, a skinny little nymph with deep-brown eyes
and with dark hair that was cut in a fringe across her forehead.
Matilda liked her because she was gutsy and adventurous. She liked Matilda for exactly the same reasons.
Before the first week of term was up, awesome tales about the Headmistress, Miss Trunchbull, began to filter through to the newcomers.
Matilda and Lavender, standing in a corner of the playground during morning-break on the third day,
were approached by a rugged ten-year-old with a boil on her nose, called Hortensia.
“New scum, I suppose,” Hortensia said to them, looking down from her great height.
She was eating from an extra large bag of potato crisps and digging the stuff out in handfuls.
“Welcome to borstal,” she added, spraying bits of crisp out of her mouth like snow-flakes.
The two tiny ones, confronted by this giant, kept a watchful silence.
“Have you met the Trunchbull yet?” Hortensia asked. “We've seen her at prayers,” Lavender said, “but we haven't met her.”
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