"There," said the schoolmaster, as they stepped in together; "this is our
shop, Nickleby!"
The "shop" was 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
copybooks 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! How the last faint traces of hope faded from the mind of
Nicholas as he looked in dismay around! There were pale and haggard faces,
lank and bony figures, boys of stunted growth; little faces which should
have been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering;
vicious-faced boys, brooding with leaden eyes, with every kindly sympathy
and affection blasted in its birth, with every young and healthy feeling
flogged and starved down.
And yet this scene, painful as it was, had its grotesque features.
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