Even Thomas mouths it, that hateful little phrase. He only learned it upon coming to the school, not six weeks ago, but already it has found time to grow into him, taken a leasehold on his tongue. It may be it can only be excised with a knife.

The interrogation begins. Julius’s voice rings clear in the large room. His is a pleasant voice, precise, rhythmic, sonorous. When he wants to, he can sound like your favourite uncle. Like your brother. Like a friend.

“You’re a prefect, Collingwood,” he begins. It is like Julius to begin there. Somewhere harmless. It makes you lower your guard. “How long has it been now since you earned the badge?”

“A year and a term, sir.”

“A year and a term. And you are pleased with the position?”

“I am pleased to serve.”

“You are pleased to serve. An excellent answer. You discharge your duties faithfully, I take it?”

“I endeavour to, sir.”

“And how do you think of those boys of whom you have been put in charge?”

“Think of them. Sir? With. . with fondness. With affection.”

“Yes, very good. Though they are perfect little brutes sometimes, are they not?”

“I trust, sir, they are as good as they can be, sir.”

“One ‘sir’ will do, Collingwood.”

Julius waits out the momentary titter that races through the room. His face, standing to the side of the lamp, is in darkness. All the world is reduced to one boy, one chair. When Collingwood fidgets, his nightshirt rides up higher on his legs and he has to pull it down with his hands. He does so clumsily. His hands have formed fists he has difficulty unclenching.

“But you like to punish them, don’t you, your little charges who are as good as they can be. Sometimes, you punish them quite severely, I believe. Just yesterday, many a boy here saw you administer a caning. Twenty-one strokes. Good ones, too. The school nurse had to treat the welts.”

Collingwood is sweating, but he is equal to this line of questioning.

“What I do,” he says, “I do only to improve them.” And adds, with a touch of boldness: “The punishment hurts me more than them.”

“You love them then, these boys.”

Collingwood hesitates. It is a strong word, love. Then settles on: “I love them like a father.”

“Very good.”