I am the last, or I think I am, to pass through the swing-door.

I hurry along the passage to join the rest in the school-room.

I upbraid the boys for the rash impiety of their demeanor.
I feel a foot on my garments behind, and hear a long cracking sound that I too, too well know to mean _gathers_.
"You beast!" cried I, in good nervous English, turning sharply round with my hand raised in act to strike, "that is the third time this week that you have torn out my--" I stop dumfounded.

If I mean to box the offender's ears, I must raise my hand considerably higher than it is at present.

Angels and ministers of grace! what has happened?
I have called General Sir Roger Tempest a _beast_, and offered to cuff him.