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My ‘First Half’ at Salem House

           

           Itwas,properly,ahalf-holiday;beingSaturday.ButasthenoiseintheplaygroundwouldhavedisturbedMr.Creakle,andtheweatherwasnotfavourableforgoingoutwalking,wewereorderedintoschoolintheafternoon,andsetsomelightertasksthanusual,whichweremadefortheoccasion.ItwasthedayoftheweekonwhichMr.Sharpwentouttogethiswigcurled;soMr.Mell,whoalwaysdidthedrudgery,whateveritwas,keptschoolbyhimself.IfIcouldassociatetheideaofabullorabearwithanyonesomildasMr.Mell,Ishouldthinkofhim,inconnexionwiththatafternoonwhentheuproarwasatitsheight,asofoneofthoseanimals,baitedbyathousanddogs.Irecallhimbendinghisachinghead,supportedonhisbonyhand,overthebookonhisdesk,andwretchedlyendeavouringtogetonwithhistiresomework,amidstanuproarthatmighthavemadetheSpeakeroftheHouseofCommonsgiddy.Boysstartedinandoutoftheirplaces,playingatpussinthecornerwithotherboys;therewerelaughingboys,singingboys,talkingboys,dancingboys,howlingboys;boysshuffledwiththeirfeet,boyswhirledabouthim,grinning,makingfaces,mimickinghimbehindhisbackandbeforehiseyes;mimickinghispoverty,hisboots,hiscoat,hismother,everythingbelongingtohimthattheyshouldhavehadconsiderationfor.

           ‘Silence!’criedMr.Mell,suddenlyrisingup,andstrikinghisdeskwiththebook.‘Whatdoesthismean!It’simpossibletobearit.It’smaddening.

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