Матильда
Mr. Wormwood, the Great Car Dealer
"Doyoudothistomanycars,dad?"
"Everysinglecarthatcomesthroughmyhandsgetsthetreatment,"thefathersaid."Theyallhavetheirmileagecuttounderundertenthoubeforethey’reofferedforsale.AndtothinkIinventedthatallbymyself,"headdedproudly."It’smademeamint."
Matilda,whohadbeenlisteningclosely,said,"Butdaddy,that’sevenmoredishonestthanthesawdust.It’sdisgusting.You’recheatingpeoplewhotrustyou."
"Ifyoudon’tlikeitthendon’teatthefoodinthishouse,"thefathersaid."It’sboughtwiththeprofits."
"It’sdirtymoney,"Matildasaid."Ihateit."
Tworedspotsappearsonthefather’scheeks."Whotheheckdoyouthinkyouare,"heshouted,"TheArchbishopofCanterburyorsomething,preachingtomeabouthonesty?You’rejustanignorantlittlesquirtwhohasn’tthefoggiestideawhatyou’retalkingabout!"
"Quiteright,Harry,"themothersaid.AndtoMatildashesaid,"You’vegotanervetalkingtoyourfatherlikethat.Nowkeepyournastymouthshutsowecanallwatchthisprogrammeinpeace."
Theywereintheliving-roomeatingtheirsuppersontheirkneesinfrontofthetelly.ThesupperswereTVdinnersinfloppyaluminiumcontainerswithseparatecompartmentsforthestewedmeat,theboiledpotatoesandthepeas.Mrs.WormwoodsatmunchinghermealwithhereyesgluedtotheAmericansoap-operaonthescreen.Shewasalargewomanwhosehairwasdyedplatinumblondeexceptwhereyoucouldseethemousy-brownbitsgrowingoutfromtheroots.
