iting, he was famous for biting, too. He then showed me the cane, and
asked me what I thought of THAT, for a tooth? Was it a sharp tooth, hey?
Was it a double tooth, hey? Had it a deep prong, hey? Did it bite, hey?
Did it bite? At every question he gave me a fleshy cut with it that made
me writhe; so I was very soon made free of Salem House (as Steerforth
said), and was very soon in tears also.

Not that I mean to say these were special marks of distinction,
which only I received. On the contrary, a large majority of the boys
(especially the smaller ones) were visited with similar instances
of notice, as Mr. Creakle made the round of the schoolroom. Half the
establishment was writhing and crying, before the day's work began; and
how much of it had writhed and cried before the day's work was over, I
am really afraid to recollect, lest I should seem to exaggerate.

I should think there never can have been a man who enjoyed his
profession more than Mr. Creakle did. He had a delight in cutting at
the boys, which was like the satisfaction of a craving appetite. I am
confident that he couldn't resist a chubby boy, especially; that there
was a fascination in such a subject, which made him restless in his
mind, until he had scored and marked him for the day. I was chubby
myself, and ought to know. I am 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 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