Background: Nicholas is a teacher in a school run by the evil Mr. Squeers, a n abusive man who has been especially cruel to a crippled boy named Smike. Smike has attempted to escape the school and Squeers has tracked him down and is about to flog him.
"'Is every boy here?' asked Squeers, in a tremendous voice.
Every boy was there, but every boy was afraid to speak; so Squeers glared along the lines to assure himself, and every eye drooped and every head cowered down as he did so.
'Each boy keep his place,' said Squeers, administering his favorite blow to the desk, and regarding with gloomy satisfaction the universal start which it never failed to occasion. 'Nickleby! to your desk, sir.'
It was remarked by more than one small observer, that there was a very curious and unusual expression in the usher's face, but he took his seat without opening his lips in reply; and Squeers casting a triumphant glance at his assistant and a look of most comprehensive despotism on the boys, left the room, and shortly afterwords returned dragging Smike by the collar - or rather by that fragment of his jacket which was nearest the place where his collar would have been, had he boasted such a decoration.
In any other place the appearance of the wretched, jaded, spiritless object would have occasioned a murmur of compassion and remonstrance. It had some effect even there; for the lookers-on moved uneasily in their seats, and a few of the boldest ventured to steal looks at each other, expressive of indignation and pity.
They were lost on Squeers, however, whose gaze was fastened on the luckless Smike as he inquired, according to custom in such cases, whether he had anything to say for himself.
'Nothing, I suppose?' said Squeers, with a diabolical grin.
Smike glancd round, and his eye rested for an instant on Nicholas, as if he had expected him to intercede; but his look was riveted on his desk.
'Have you anything to say?' demanded Squeers again: giving his right arm two or three flourishes to try its power and suppleness. 'Stand a little out of the way, Mrs. Squeers, my dear; I've hardly got room enough.'
'Spare me, sir!' cried Smike.
'Oh! That's all, is it?' said Squeers. 'Yes, I'll flog you within an inch of your life, and spare you that.'
'Ha, ha,ha,' laughed Mrs. Squeers, 'that's a good 'un.'
'I was driven to do it,' said Smike faintly; and casting another imploring look about him.
'Driven to do it, were you?' said Squeers. 'Oh! it wasn't your fault; it was mine, I suppose - eh?'
'A nasty, ungrateful, pig-headed, brutish, obstinate, sneaking dog,' exclaimed Mrs. Squeers, taking Smike's head under her arm, and administering a cuff at every epithet; 'what does he mean by that?'
'Stand aside, my dear,' replied Squeers. 'We'll try and find out.'
Mrs. Squeers being out of breath with her exertions, complied. Squeers caught the boy firmly in his grip; one desperate cut had fallen on his body - he was wincing from the lash and uttering a scream of pain - it was raised again, and again about to fall - when Nicholas Nickleby suddenly starting up, cried 'Stop!' in a voice that made the rafters ring.
'Who cried stop?' said Squeers, turning savagely round.
'I,' said Nicholas, stepping forward. 'This must not go on.'
'Must not go on!' cried Squeers, almost in a shriek.
'No!' thundered Nicholas.
Aghast and stupefied by the boldness of the interference, Squeers released his hold of Smike, and falling back a pace or two, gazed upon Nicholas with looks that were positively frightful.
'I say must not,' repeated Nicholas, nothing daunted;'shall not. I will prevent it.'
Squeers continued to gaze upon him, with his eyes starting out of his head; but astonishment had actually for the moment bereft him of speech.
'You have disregarded all my quiet interference in the miserable lad's behalf,' said Nicholas; 'returned no answer to the letter in which I begged forgiveness for him,and offered to be responsible that he would remain quietly here. Don't blame me for this public interference. You have brought it upon yourself; not I.'
'Sit down, beggar!' screamed Squeers, almost beside himself with rage, and seizing Smike as he spoke.
'Wretch,' rejoined Nicholas, fiercely,'touch him at your peril! I will not stand by and see it done; my blood is up, and I have the strength of ten such men as you. Look to yourself, for by Heaven I will not spare you, if you drive me on.'
'Stand back,' cried Squeers, brandishing his weapon.
'I have a long series of insults to avenge,' said Nicholas, flushed with passion; 'and my indignation is aggravated by the dastardly cruelties practised on helpless infancy in this foul den. Have a care; for if you do raise the devil within me, the consequences shall fall heavily upon your own head.'"
by Charles Dickens
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