ded cliff; troubles
forgotten for the moment; imbibing it all....

His fifteen months of reprieve had flown faster than anyone could have
believed. It was over--everything was over. No more lessons with Tara
under their beech-tree. No more happy hours in the studio, exploring the
mysteries of 'maths' and Homer, of form and colour, with his father, who
seemed to know the 'Why' of everything. Worse than all--no more Mummy,
to make the whole world beautiful with the colours of her saris and the
loveliness and the dearness of her face, and her laugh and her voice.

It was all over. He was at school: not Coombe Friars, decreed by Aunt
Jane; but St Rupert's, because the Head was an artist friend of his
father, and would take a personal interest in Roy.

But the Head, however kind, was a distant being; and the boys, who could
not exactly be called kind, hemmed him in on every side. His shy
sensitive spirit shrank fastidiously from the strange faces and bodies
that herded round him, at meals, at bedtime, in the schoolroom, on the
playground; some curious and friendly; others curious and hostile:--a
very nightmare of boys, who would not let him be. And the more they
hemmed him in, the more he felt utterly, miserably alone.

As the endless weeks dragged on, there were interesting, even exciting
moments--when you hardly felt the ache. But other times--evenings and
Sundays--it came back sharper than ever. And in the course of those
weeks he had learnt a number of things not included in the school
curriculum. He had learnt that it was better to clench your teeth and
not cry out when your ears were tweaked or your arm twisted, or an
unexpected pin stuck into the soft part of your leg. But, inside him,
there burned a fire of rage and hate unsuspected by his tormentors. It
was not so much the pain, as the fact that they seemed to enjoy hurting
him, that he could neither understand nor forgive.

And by now he felt more than half ashamed of those early letters to his
mother, pouring out his misery of loneliness and longing; of frantic
threats to run away or jump off the cliff, that had so strangely failed
to soften his father's heart. It seemed, he knew all about it. He had
been through it himself. But Mummy did not know; so she got upset. And
Mummy must not be upset, whatever happened to Roy, who was advised to
'shut his teeth and play the man' and he would feel the happier for it.
That hard counsel had done more than hurt and shame