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"
What
?
Now
?
"
the
boy
said
,
cautious
.
He
knew
there
was
a
catch
in
this
somewhere
,
but
he
wasn
’
t
sure
where
.
"
Can
’
t
I
take
it
home
instead
?
"
he
asked
.
"
That
would
be
impolite
,
"
the
Trunchbull
said
,
with
a
crafty
grin
.
"
You
must
show
cookie
here
how
grateful
you
are
for
all
the
trouble
she
’
s
taken
.
"
The
boy
didn
’
t
move
.
"
Go
on
,
get
on
with
it
,
"
the
Trunchbull
said
.
"
Cut
a
slice
and
taste
it
.
We
haven
’
t
got
all
day
.
"
The
boy
picked
up
the
knife
and
was
about
to
cut
into
the
cake
when
he
stopped
.
He
stared
at
the
cake
.
Then
he
looked
up
at
the
Trunchbull
,
then
at
the
tall
stringy
cook
with
her
lemon
-
juice
mouth
.
All
the
children
in
the
hall
were
watching
tensely
,
waiting
for
something
to
happen
.
They
felt
certain
it
must
.
The
Trunchbull
was
not
a
person
who
would
give
someone
a
whole
chocolate
cake
to
eat
just
out
of
kindness
.
Many
were
guessing
that
it
had
been
filled
with
pepper
or
castor
-
oil
or
some
other
foul
-
tasting
substance
that
would
make
the
boy
violently
sick
.
It
might
even
be
arsenic
and
he
would
be
dead
in
ten
seconds
flat
.
Or
perhaps
it
was
a
booby
-
trapped
cake
and
the
whole
thing
would
blow
up
the
moment
it
was
cut
,
taking
Bruce
Bogtrotter
with
it
.
No
one
in
the
school
put
it
past
the
Trunchbull
to
do
any
of
these
things
.
"
I
don
’
t
want
to
eat
it
,
"
the
boy
said
.
"
Taste
it
,
you
little
brat
,
"
the
Trunchbull
said
.
"
You
’
re
insulting
the
cook
.
"
Very
gingerly
the
boy
began
to
cut
a
thin
slice
of
the
vast
cake
.
Then
he
levered
the
slice
out
.
Then
he
put
down
the
knife
and
took
the
sticky
thing
in
his
fingers
and
started
very
slowly
to
eat
it
.
"
It
’
s
good
,
isn
’
t
it
?
"
the
Trunchbull
asked
.
