But she does say, slowly, as though she doesn't quite believe it: "...Jim?" A breath. "Jim. What the hell?"
(Miss Trunchbull comes up snarling, sprinkled with chips of paint that parted company with the wall when she hit it. For a moment Matilda can hardly breathe, she's so scared.
There's a glow rising around the Trunchbull's clenched fist, the red of imaginary fire. She stalks forward, saying, "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"
Matilda presses herself back into the space between two vending machines. It's not a feasible hiding place in the long term. She is going to have to change something about this situation, and fast.)
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She doesn't drop the lamp, doesn't relax.
But she does say, slowly, as though she doesn't quite believe it: "...Jim?" A breath. "Jim. What the hell?"
(Miss Trunchbull comes up snarling, sprinkled with chips of paint that parted company with the wall when she hit it. For a moment Matilda can hardly breathe, she's so scared.
There's a glow rising around the Trunchbull's clenched fist, the red of imaginary fire. She stalks forward, saying, "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"
Matilda presses herself back into the space between two vending machines. It's not a feasible hiding place in the long term. She is going to have to change something about this situation, and fast.)