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This business dispatched, a few slovenly lessons were performed, and
Squeers retired to his fireside, leaving Nicholas to take care of the
boys in the school-room which was very cold, and where a meal of bread
was served out shortly after dark.
There was a small stove at that corner of the room which was nearest
the master's desk, and by it Nicholas sat down, depressed and
self-degraded.
As he was absorbed in his meditations, he all at once encountered the
upturned face of Smike, who was on his knees before the stove, picking a
few stray cinders from the hearth and planting them on the fire. He had
paused to steal a look at Nicholas, and when he saw that he was
observed, shrank back, as if expecting a blow.
"You need not fear me. Are you cold?"
"N-n-o."
"You are shivering."
"I'm not cold. I'm used to it."
There was such an obvious fear of giving offense in his manner, and he
was such a timid, broken-spirited creature, that Nicholas could not help
exclaiming, "Poor fellow!"
"Oh dear, oh dear! my heart will break.


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