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PinkMonkey.com-Nicholas Nickelby by Charles Dickens




139

without seeing anything at all. By degrees, however, the place
resolved itself into a bare and dirty room, with a couple of
windows, whereof a tenth part might be of glass, the remainder
being stopped up with old copy-books and paper. There were a
couple of long old rickety desks, cut and notched, and inked, and
damaged, in every possible way; two or three forms; a detached
desk for Squeers; and another for his assistant. The ceiling was
supported, like that of a barn, by cross-beams and rafters; and the
walls were so stained and discoloured, that it was impossible to tell
whether they had ever been touched with paint or whitewash.

But the pupils--the young noblemen! How the last faint traces
of hope, the remotest glimmering of any good to be derived from
his efforts in this den, faded from the mind of Nicholas as he
looked in dismay around! Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony
figures, children with the countenances of old men, deformities
with irons upon their limbs, boys of stunted growth, and others
whose long meagre legs would hardly bear their stooping bodies,
all crowded on the view together; there were the bleared eye, the
hare-lip, the crooked foot, and every ugliness or distortion that
told of unnatural aversion conceived by parents for their offspring,
or of young lives which, from the earliest dawn of infancy, had
been one horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. There were
little faces which should have been handsome, darkened with the
scowl of sullen, dogged suffering; there was childhood with the
light of its eye quenched, its beauty gone, and its helplessness
alone remaining; there were vicious-faced boys, brooding, with
leaden eyes, like malefactors in a jail; and there were young
creatures on whom the sins of their frail parents had descended,
weeping even for the mercenary nurses they had known, and


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