After this, supper was prepared on the long table, and the clergyman
called down upon it the blessing of God, and enjoined the boys to be
thankful, and departed in company with the governor. Darius, who had
not tasted all day, could not eat. The flogging had not nauseated him,
but the bread and the skilly revolted his pampered tastes. Never had
he, with all his experience, seen nor smelt anything so foully
disgusting. When supper was completed, a minor official interceded with
the Almighty in various ways for ten minutes, and at last the boys were
marched upstairs to bed. They all slept in one room. The night also
could be set down in words, but must not be, lest the setting-down
should be disastrous...
Darius knew that he was ruined; he knew that he was a workhouse boy for
evermore, and that the bright freedom of sixteen hours a day in a cellar
was lost to him for evermore. He was now a prisoner, branded, hopeless.
He would never be able to withstand the influences that had closed
around him and upon him. He supposed that he should become desperate,
become a tiger, and then...
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