“Cripple,” said Singer.

For the rest of the term he tormented Philip cruelly, and, though Philip tried to keep out of his way, the school was so small that it was impossible; he tried being friendly and jolly with him; he abased himself, so far as to buy him a knife; but though Singer took the knife he was not placated.  Once or twice, driven beyond endurance, he hit and kicked the bigger boy, but Singer was so much stronger that Philip was helpless, and he was always forced after more or less torture to beg his pardon.  It was that which rankled with Philip:  he could not bear the humiliation of apologies, which were wrung from him by pain greater than he could bear.  And what made it worse was that there seemed no end to his wretchedness; Singer was only eleven and would not go to the upper school till he was thirteen.  Philip realised that he must live two years with a tormentor from whom there was no escape.  He was only happy while he was working and when he got into bed.  And often there recurred to him then that queer feeling that his life with all its misery was nothing but a dream, and that he would awake in the morning in his own little bed in London.

XIII

Two years passed, and Philip was nearly twelve.  He was in the first form, within two or three places of the top, and after Christmas when several boys would be leaving for the senior school he would be head boy.  He had already quite a collection of prizes, worthless books on bad paper, but in gorgeous bindings decorated with the arms of the school:  his position had freed him from bullying, and he was not unhappy.  His fellows forgave him his success because of his deformity.

“After all, it’s jolly easy for him to get prizes,” they said, “there’s nothing he can do but swat.”

He had lost his early terror of Mr. Watson.  He had grown used to the loud voice, and when the headmaster’s heavy hand was laid on his shoulder Philip discerned vaguely the intention of a caress.  He had the good memory which is more useful for scholastic achievements than mental power, and he knew Mr. Watson expected him to leave the preparatory school with a scholarship.

But he had grown very self-conscious.  The new-born child does not realise that his body is more a part of himself than surrounding objects, and will play with his toes without any feeling that they belong to him more than the rattle by his side; and it is only by degrees, through pain, that he understands the fact of the body.  And experiences of the same kind are necessary for the individual to become conscious of himself; but here there is the difference that, although everyone becomes equally conscious of his body as a separate and complete organism, everyone does not become equally conscious of himself as a complete and separate personality.  The feeling of apartness from others comes to most with puberty, but it is not always developed to such a degree as