Steerforth — who cut his name very deep and very often, who, I conceived, would read it in a rather strong voice, and afterwards pull my hair.

There was another boy, one Tommy Traddles, who I dreaded would make game of it, and pretend to be dreadfully frightened of me. There was a third, George Demple, who I fancied would sing it. I have looked, a little shrinking creature, at that door, until the owners of all the names — there were five-and-forty of them in the school then, Mr. Mell said — seemed to send me to Coventry by general acclamation, and to cry out, each in his own way, ‘Take care of him. He bites!’

It was the same with the places at the desks and forms.

It was the same with the groves of deserted