"And when I die
In hell I shall lie
With fire and chains
And awful pains."
The Aunts had repeated this to him, as a child, when he was naughty. And it had always struck a vague terror into his soul. He had forgotten it. Now it came again.
"In hell I shall lie
With fire and chains
And awful pains."
He had a vivid realisation of this hell. That was where he lay at that very moment.
"You must be a good, loving little boy."
He had never wanted to be a good, loving little boy. Something in his bowels revolted from being a good, loving little boy, revolted in nausea. "But if you're not a good, loving little boy."
Then when you die
In hell you will lie'—etc.
"Let me lie in hell, then," the bad and unloving little boy had answered, to the shocked horror of the Aunts. And the answer had scared even himself.
And now the hell was on him. And still he was not a good, loving little boy.
He remembered his lessons: Love your enemies.