Christian nodded.
“To work in the schools after that I had to give up my business, of course. There was only one teacher who ever taught me anything; the others all seemed fools. This man would come and rub out what you'd done with his sleeve. I used to cry with rage—but I told him I could only learn from him, and he was so astonished that he got me into his class.”
“But how did you live without money?” asked Christian.
His face burned with a dark flush. “I don't know how I lived; you must have been through these things to know, you would never understand.”
“But I want to understand, please.”
“What do you want me to tell you? How I went twice a week to eat free dinners! How I took charity! How I was hungry! There was a rich cousin of my mother's—I used to go to him. I didn't like it. But if you're starving in the winter.”
Christian put out her hand.
“I used to borrow apronsful of coals from other students who were as poor—but I never went to the rich students.”
The flush had died out of his face.
“That sort of thing makes you hate the world! You work till you stagger; you're cold and hungry; you see rich people in their carriages, wrapped in furs, and all the time you want to do something great. You pray for a chance, any chance; nothing comes to the poor! It makes you hate the world.”