sure　when　I　think　of　the　fellow　now；　my　blood　rises　against　him
  with　the　disinterested　indignation　I　should　feel　if　I　could　have
  known　all　about　him　without　having　ever　been　in　his　power；　but　it
  rises　hotly；　because　I　know　him　to　have　been　an　incapable　brute；
  who　had　no　more　right　to　be　possessed　of　the　great　trust　he　held；
  than　to　be　Lord　High　Admiral；　or　Commander…in…Chief—in　either
  of　which　capacities　it　is　probable　that　he　would　have　done
  infinitely　less　mischief。
  Miserable　little　propitiators　of　a　remorseless　Idol；　how　abject　we
  were　to　him！　What　a　launch　in　life　I　think　it　now；　on　looking　back；
  to　be　so　mean　and　servile　to　a　man　of　such　parts　and　pretensions！
  Here　I　sit　at　the　desk　again；　watching　his　eye—humbly
  watching　his　eye；　as　he　rules　a　ciphering…book　for　another　victim
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  whose　hands　have　just　been　flattened　by　that　identical　ruler；　and
  who　is　trying　to　wipe　the　sting　out　with　a　pocket…handkerchief。　I
  have　plenty　to　do。　I　don’t　watch　his　eye　in　idleness；　but　because　I
  am　morbidly　attracted　to　it；　in　a　dread　desire　to　know　what　he　will
  do　next；　and　whether　it　will　be　my　turn　to　suffer；　or　somebody
  else’s。　A　lane　of　small　boys　beyond　me；　with　the　same　interest　in
  his　eye；　watch　it　too。　I　think　he　knows　it；　though　he　pretends　he
  don’t。　He　makes　dreadful　mouths　as　he　rules　the　ciphering…book；
  and　now　he　throws　his　eye　sideways　down　our　lane；　and　we　all
  droop　over　our　books　and　tremble。　A　moment　afterwards　we　are
  again　eyeing　him。　An　unhappy　culprit；　found　guilty　of　imperfect
  exercise；　approaches　at　his　command。　The　culprit　falters　excuses；
  and　professes　a　determination　to　do　better　tomorrow。　Mr。　Creakle
  cuts　a　joke　before　he　beats　him；　and　we　laugh　at　it；—miserable
  little　dogs；　we　laugh；　with　our　visages　as　white　as　ashes；　and　our
  hearts　sinking　into　our　boots。
  Here　I　sit　at　the　desk　again；　on　a　drowsy　summer　afternoon。　A
  buzz　and　hum　go　up　around　me；　as　if　the　boys　were　so　many
  bluebottles。　A　cloggy　sensation　of　the　lukewarm　fat　of　meat　is　upon
  me　（we　dined　an　hour　or　two　ago）；　and　my　head　is　as　heavy　as　so
  much　lead。　I　would　give　the　world　to　go　to　sleep。　I　sit　with　my　eye
  on　Mr。　Creakle；　blinking　at　him　like　a　young　owl；　when　sleep
  overpowers　me　for　a　minute；　he　still　looms　through　my　slumber；
  ruling　those　ciphering…books；　until　he　softly　comes　behind　me　and
  wakes　me　to　plainer　perception　of　him；　with　a　red　ridge　across　my
  back。
  Here　I　am　in　the　playground；　with　my　eye　still　fascinated　by
  him；　though　I　can’t　see　him。　The　window　at　a　little　distance　from
  which　I　know　he　is　having　his　dinner；　stands　for　him；　and　I　eye
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  that　instead。　If　he　shows　his　face　near　it；　mine　assumes　an
  imploring　and　submissive　expression。　If　he　looks　out　through　the
  glass；　the　boldest　boy　（Steerforth　excepted）　stops　in　the　middle　of
  a　shout　or　yell；　and　becomes　contemplative。　One　day；　Traddles
  （the　most　unfortunate　boy　in　the　world）　breaks　that　window
  accidentally；　with　a　ball。　I　shudder　at　this　moment　with　the
  tremendous　sensation　of　seeing　it　done；　and　feeling　that　the　ball
  has　bounded　on　to　Mr。　Creakle’s　sacred　head。
  Poor　Traddles！　In　a　tight　sky…blue　suit　that　made　his　arms　and
  legs　like　German　sausages；　or　roly…poly　puddings；　he　was　the
  merriest　and　most　miserable　of　all　the　boys。　He　was　always　being
  caned—I　think　he　was　caned　every　day　that　half…year；　except　one
  holiday　Monday　when　he　was　only　ruler’d　on　both　hands—and
  was　always　going　to　write　to　his　uncle　about　it；　and　never　did。
  After　laying　his　head　on　the　desk　for　a　little　while；　he　would　cheer
  up；　somehow；　begin　to　laugh　again；　and　draw　skeletons　all　over　his
  slate；　before　his　eyes　were　dry。　I　used　at　first　to　wonder　what
  comfort　Traddles　found　in　drawing　skeletons；　and　for　some　time
  looked　upon　him　as　a　sort　of　hermit；　who　reminded　himself　by
  those　symbols　of　mortality　that　caning　couldn’t　last　for　ever。　But　I
  believe　he　only　did　it　because　they　were　easy；　and　didn’t　want　any
  features。
  He　was　very　honourable；　Traddles　was；　and　held　it　as　a　solemn
  duty　in　the　boys　to　stand　by　one　another。　He　suffered　for　this　on
  several　occasions；　and　particularly　once；　when　Steerforth　laughed
  in　church；　and　the　Beadle　thought　it　was　Traddles；　and　took　him
  out。　I　see　him　now；　going　away　in　custody；　despised　by　the
  congregation。　He　never　said　who　was　the　real　offender；　though　he
  smarted　for　it　next　day；　and　was　imprisoned　so　many　hours　that　he
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  came　forth　with　a　whole　churchyard…full　of　skeletons　swarming　all
  over　his　Latin　Dictionary。　But　he　had　his　reward。　Steerforth　said
  there　was　nothing　of　the　sneak　in　Traddles；　and　we　all　felt　that　to
  be　the　highest　praise。　For　my　part；　I　could　have　gone　through　a
  good　deal　（though　I　was　much　less　brave　than　Traddles；　and
  nothing　like　so　old）　to　have　won　such　a　recompense。
  To　see　Steerforth　walk　to　church　before　us；　arm…in…arm　with
  Miss　Creakle；　was　one　of　the　great　sights　of　my　life。　I　didn’t　think
  Miss　Creakle　equal　to　little　Em’ly　in　point　of　beauty；　and　I　didn’t
  love　her　（I　didn’t　dare）；　but　I　thought　her　a　young　lady　of
  extraordinary　attractions；　and　in　point　of　gentility　not　to　be
  surpassed。　When　Steerforth；　in　white　trousers；　carried　her　parasol
  for　her；　I　felt　proud　to　know　him；　and　believed　that　she　could　not
  choose　but　adore　him　with　all　her　heart。　Mr。　Sharp　and　Mr。　Mell
  were　both　notable　personages　in　my　eyes；　but　Steerforth　was　to
  them　what　the　sun　was　to　two　stars。
  Steerforth　continued　his　protection　of　me；　and　proved　a　very
  useful　friend；　since　nobody　dared　to　annoy　one　whom　he
  honoured　with　his　countenance。　He　couldn’t—or　at　all　events　he
  didn’t—defend　me　from　Mr。　Creakle；　who　was　very　severe　with
  me；　but　whenever　I　had　been　treated　worse　than　usual；　he　always
  told　me　that　I　wanted　a　little　of　his　pluck；　and　that　he　wouldn’t
  have　stood　it　himself；　which　I　felt　he　intended　for　encouragement；
  and　considered　to　be　very　kind　of　him。　There　was　one　advantage；
  and　only　one　that　I　know　of；　in　Mr。　Creakle’s　severity。　He　found
  my　placard　in　his　way　when　he　came　up　or　down　behind　the　form
  on　which　I　sat；　and　wanted　to　make　a　cut　at　me　in　passing；　for　this
  reason　it　was　soon　taken　off；　and　I　saw　it　no　more。
  An　accidental　circumstance　cemented　the　intimacy　between
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  David　Copperfield
  Steerforth　and　me；　in　a　manner　that　inspired　me　with　great　pride
  and　satisfaction；　though　it　sometimes　led　to　inconvenience。　It
  happened　on　one　occasion；　when　he　was　doing　me　the　honour　of
  talking　to　me　in　the　playground；　that　I　hazarded　the　observation
  that　something　or　somebody—I　forget　what　now—was　like
  something　or　somebody　in　Peregrine　Pickle。　He　said　nothing　at
  the　time；　but　when　I　was　going　to　bed　at　night；　asked　me　if　I　had
  got　that　book？
  I　told　him　no；　and　explained　how　it　was　that　I　had　read　it；　and
  all　those　other　books　of　which　I　have　made　mention。
  ‘And　do　you　recollect　them？’　Steerforth　said。
  ‘Oh　yes；’　I　replied；　I　had　a　good　memory；　and　I　believed　I
  recollected　them　very　well。
  ‘Then　I　tell　you　what；　young　Copperfield；’　said　Steerforth；　‘you
  shall　tell　’em　to　me。　I　can’t　get　to　sleep　very　early　at　night；　and　I
  generally　wake　rather　early　in　the　morning。　We’ll　go　over　’em　one
  after　another。　We’ll　make　some　regular　Arabian　Nights　of　it。’
  I　felt　extremely　flattered　by　this　arrangement；　and　we
  commenced　carrying　it　into　execution　that　very　evening。　What
  ravages　I　committed　on　my　favourite　authors　in　the　course　of　my
  interpretation　of　them；　I　am　not　in　a　condition　to　say；　and　should
  be　very　unwilling　to　know；　but　I　had　a　profound　faith　in　them；　and
  I　had；　to　the　best　of　my　belief；　a　simple；　earnest　manner　of
  narrating　what　I　did　narrate；　and　these　qualities　went　a　long　way。
  The　drawback　was；　that　I　was　often　sleepy　at　night；　or　out　of
  spirits　and　indisposed　to　resume　the　story；　and　then　it　was　rather
  hard　work；　and　it　must　be　done；　for　to　disappoint　or　to　displease
  Steerforth　was　of　course　out　of　the　question。　In　the　morning；　too；
  when　I　felt　weary；　and　should　have　enjoyed　another　hour’s　repose
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  David　Copperfield
  very　much；　it　was　a　tiresome　thing　to　be　roused；　like　the　Sultana
  Scheherazade；　and　forced　into　a　long　story　before　the　getting…up
  bell　rang；　but　Steerforth　was　resolute；　and　as　he　explained　to　me；
  in　return；　my　sums　and　exercises；　and　anything　in　my　tasks　that
  was　too　hard　for　me；　I　was　no　loser　by　the　transaction。　Let　me　do
  myself　justice；　however。　I　was　moved　by　no　interested　or　selfish
  motive；　nor　was　I　moved　by　fear　of　him。　I　admired　and　loved　him；
  and　his　approval　was　return　enough。　It　was　so　precious　to　me　that
  I　look　back　on　these　trifles；　now；　with　an　aching　heart。
  Steerforth　was　considerate；　too；　and　showed　his　consideration；
  in　one　particular　instance；　in　an　unflinching　manner　that　was　a
  little　tantalizing；　I　suspect；　to　poor　Traddles　and　t