Page 67 - a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-man

and pushed it open and went in.
He saw the rector sitting at a desk writing. There was a
skull on the desk and a strange solemn smell in the room
like the old leather of chairs.
His heart was beating fast on account of the solemn place
he was in and the silence of the room: and he looked at the
skull and at the rector’s kind-looking face.
—Well, my little man, said the rector, what is it?
Stephen swallowed down the thing in his throat and
said:
—I broke my glasses, sir.
The rector opened his mouth and said:
—O!
Then he smiled and said:
—Well, if we broke our glasses we must write home for
a new pair.
—I wrote home, sir, said Stephen, and Father Arnall said
I am not to study till they come.
—Quite right! said the rector.
Stephen swallowed down the thing again and tried to
keep his legs and his voice from shaking.
—But, sir—
—Yes?
—Father Dolan came in today and pandied me because I
was not writing my theme.
The rector looked at him in silence and he could feel the
blood rising to his face and the tears about to rise to his
eyes.
The rector said:

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