Classics Retold

Next morning, after breakfast, I entered on school life again.  I went, accompanied by Mr Wickfield to the scene of my future studies- a grave building in a courtyard, with a learned air about it that suited very well to the stray rooks and jackdaws who came down from the Cathedral tower to walk with a clerkly bearing on the grass plot - and was introduced to my new master, Doctor Strong. Doctor Strong looked almost as rusty, to my thinking, as the tall iron rails and gates outside the house; and almost as stiff and heavy as the great stone urn that flanked them, and were set up, on the top of red brick wall, at regular distances all round the court, like sublimated skittles for Time to play at.  Doctor Strong was in his library, with his clothes not particularly well brushed, and his hair not particularly combed, his knee-small unbraced, his long black gaiters unbuttoned, and his shoes  yawning like two caverns on the hearth-rug.  Turning upon me a lustreless eye, t...