o the front with their books.
And after he had thoroughly gone through the silent and
quivering class he caned the worst offenders well, in front of
the others, thundering in real passion of anger and chagrin.

"Such a condition in a class, I can't believe it! It is
simply disgraceful! I can't think how you have been let to get
like it! Every Monday morning I shall come down and examine
these books. So don't think that because there is nobody paying
any attention to you, that you are free to unlearn everything
you ever learned, and go back till you are not fit for Standard
Three. I shall examine all books every Monday----"

Then in a rage, he went away with his cane, leaving Ursula to
confront a pale, quivering class, whose childish faces were shut
in blank resentment, fear, and bitterness, whose souls were full
of anger and contempt for her rather than of the master, whose
eyes looked at her with the cold, inhuman accusation of
children. And she could hardly make mechanical words to speak to
them. When she gave an order they obeyed with an insolent
off-handedness, as if to say: "As for you, do you think we would
obey you, but for the master?" She sent the blubbering,
caned boys to their seats, knowing that they too jeered at her
and her authority, holding her weakness responsible for what
punishment had overtaken them. And she knew the whole position,
so that even her horror of physical beating and suffering sank
to a deeper pain, and became a moral judgment upon her, worse
than any hurt.

She must, during the next week, watch over her books, and
punish any fault. Her soul decided it coldly. Her personal
desire was dead for that day at least. She must have nothing
more of herself in school. She was to be Standard Five teacher
only. That was her duty. In school, she was nothing but Standard
Five teacher. Ursula Brangwen must be excluded.

So that, pale, shut, at last distant and impersonal, she saw
no longer the child, how his eyes danced, or how he had a queer
little soul that could not be bothered with shaping handwriting
so long as he dashed down what he thought. She saw no children,
only the task that was to be done. And keeping her eyes there,
on the task, and not on the child, she was impersonal enough to
punish where she could otherwise only have sympathized,
understood, and condoned, to approve where she would have been
merely uninterested before. But her interest had no place any
more.

It was agony t