“You have to stand. And three of the walls are made of cement with bits of broken glass sticking out all over, so you can't lean against them.”
“You have to stand more or less at attention all the time when you get locked up in there. It's terrible.”
“Can't you lean against the door?” Matilda asked. “Don't be daft,” Hortensia said.
“The door's got thousands of sharp spikey nails sticking out of it.”
“They've been hammered through from the outside, probably by the Trunchbull herself.”
“Have you ever been in there?” Lavender asked. “My first term I was in there six times,” Hortensia said.
“Twice for a whole day and the other times for two hours each. But two hours is quite bad enough.”
“It's pitch dark and you have to stand up dead straight”
“and if you wobble at all you get spiked either by the glass on the walls or the nails on the door.”
“Why were you put in?” Matilda asked. “What had you done?”
“The first time,” Hortensia said, “I poured half a tin of Golden Syrup on to the seat of the chair the Trunchbull was going to sit on at prayers.”
“It was wonderful. When she lowered herself into the chair,”
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