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They
were
walking
over
the
deep
sun
-
baked
mud
-
tracks
of
the
lane
and
you
had
to
watch
where
you
put
your
feet
if
you
didn
t
want
to
twist
your
ankle
.
There
were
a
few
small
birds
around
in
the
hazel
branches
but
that
was
all
.
"
It
s
just
a
farm
-
labourer
s
cottage
,
"
Miss
Honey
said
.
"
You
mustn
t
expect
too
much
of
it
.
We
re
nearly
there
.
"
They
came
to
a
small
green
gate
half
-
buried
in
the
hedge
on
the
right
and
almost
hidden
by
the
overhanging
hazel
branches
.
Miss
Honey
paused
with
one
hand
on
the
gate
and
said
,
"
There
it
is
.
That
s
where
I
live
.
"
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Matilda
saw
a
narrow
dirt
-
path
leading
to
a
tiny
red
-
brick
cottage
.
The
cottage
was
so
small
it
looked
more
like
a
doll
s
house
than
a
human
dwelling
.
The
bricks
it
was
built
of
were
old
and
crumbly
and
very
pale
red
.
It
had
a
grey
slate
roof
and
one
small
chimney
,
and
there
were
two
little
windows
at
the
front
.
Each
window
was
no
larger
than
a
sheet
of
tabloid
newspaper
and
there
was
clearly
no
upstairs
to
the
place
.
On
either
side
of
the
path
there
was
a
wilderness
of
nettles
and
blackberry
thorns
and
long
brown
grass
.
An
enormous
oak
tree
stood
overshadowing
the
cottage
.
Its
massive
spreading
branches
seemed
to
be
enfolding
and
embracing
the
tiny
building
,
and
perhaps
hiding
it
as
well
from
the
rest
of
the
world
.
Miss
Honey
,
with
one
hand
on
the
gate
which
she
had
not
yet
opened
,
turned
to
Matilda
and
said
,
"
A
poet
called
Dylan
Thomas
once
wrote
some
lines
that
I
think
of
every
time
I
walk
up
this
path
.
"
Matilda
waited
,
and
Miss
Honey
,
in
a
rather
wonderful
slow
voice
,
began
reciting
the
poem
:
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"
Never
and
never
,
my
girl
riding
far
and
near
In
the
land
of
the
hearthstone
tales
,
and
spelled
asleep
,
Fear
or
believe
that
the
wolf
in
the
sheepwhite
hood
Loping
and
bleating
roughly
and
blithely
shall
leap
,
my
dear
,
my
dear
,