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"
I
don
’
t
know
,
"
Matilda
whispered
back
.
The
whole
school
waited
for
what
was
coming
next
.
"
Bruce
Bogtrotter
!
"
the
Trunchbull
barked
suddenly
.
"
Where
is
Bruce
Bogtrotter
?
"
A
hand
shot
up
among
the
seated
children
.
"
Come
up
here
!
"
the
Trunchbull
shouted
.
"
And
look
smart
about
it
!
"
An
eleven
-
year
-
old
boy
who
was
decidedly
large
and
round
stood
up
and
waddled
briskly
forward
.
He
climbed
up
on
to
the
platform
.
"
Stand
over
there
!
"
the
Trunchbull
ordered
,
pointing
.
The
boy
stood
to
one
side
.
He
looked
nervous
.
He
knew
very
well
he
wasn
’
t
up
there
to
be
presented
with
a
prize
.
He
was
watching
the
Headmistress
with
an
exceedingly
wary
eye
and
he
kept
edging
farther
and
farther
away
from
her
with
little
shuffles
of
his
feet
,
rather
as
a
rat
might
edge
away
from
a
terrier
that
is
watching
it
from
across
the
room
.
His
plump
flabby
face
had
turned
grey
with
fearful
apprehension
.
His
stockings
hung
about
his
ankles
.
"
This
clot
,
"
boomed
the
Headmistress
,
pointing
the
riding
-
crop
at
him
like
a
rapier
,
"
this
blackhead
,
this
foul
carbuncle
,
this
poisonous
pustule
that
you
see
before
you
is
none
other
than
a
disgusting
criminal
,
a
denizen
of
the
underworld
,
a
member
of
the
Mafia
!
"
"
Who
,
me
?
"
Bruce
Bogtrotter
said
,
looking
genuinely
puzzled
.
