the stile . the mirror had a bevelled edge , so that by tilting it carefully he could cut his eye in half quite painlessly . now he had three eyes and a harelip . he squared the mirror , made a cruel gesture with his mouth , then put his hand down the front of his trousers to see if he had more hair than Falkirk yet . suddenly he noticed some flecks of scurf that must have fallen on the mirror when he was combing his parting . he began to worry about that instead . the waiting was intolerable . and yet he knew it should n&apos;t be . the bed was a secure island where he was immune from time . that was why before going back to school , or before going to the dance as now , he would set aside a whole hour for lying on his bed . it was a rational device for delaying fear . when he panicked , and he had been panicking for more than a week , he could say to himself , there is still the hour . there is no excuse for worrying before the hour . the strategem never worked , but he still enforced it rigidly because the hour was the time for thinking . now he felt silly lying on the bed in his blue suit and his ridiculous patent-leather shoes with silver buckles . he strained his ears to hear his mother backing the car out of the garage ; all the time his breathing coming faster . the other thought came back . he bit his lip and cut his eye in half again with the mirror . he rather wished the down would disappear altogether . last term had been bad enough . their voices were still in his ears like trapped bees . Morton has a forest ! with a waterfall in it ! Morton ! Morton ! Morton ! look at the Jelly Roll ! I &apos;m precocious , he said carefully , and aloud to the ceiling , turning away wearily from the sound of their voices . he wondered dazedly whether the term after next at his new school everyone would have hairy dings and it would n&apos;t matter so much . what if his trousers fell off tonight and all the girls at the dance started shouting &amp;hellip; . he reversed the mirror quickly , and as an additional safeguard closed his eyes , so that he was n&apos;t . but it was not an easy thing to pretend : in no time at all he was again . then what about the doctor at last term &apos;s medical inspection ? he was still wondering about that . stand up straight much ? the doctor asked , and he began tapping his teeth with the tongue-depressor he had in his hand . Peter drew himself to attention and said , Sir ? they had to call him that ; it was good manners . play about a bit ? the doctor said . he seemed absent-mindedly to be cleaning his teeth with the tongue depressor now ; then he stopped that and looked at his fingernails . football practice . Peter shrugged . and camp-fires in the woods mostly . then he left the room for the next boy , wondering why the matron who was usually helping the doctor had disappeared . they were backing out the car . he panicked . leaping off the bed he scrabbled through his drawers . he must have something in his pocket to show people . to talk about . he grabbed his bullet . then he saw his hairbrush . at school boys hit their chests with hairbrushes to look like measles . his hand hovered over the brush . his father would see through it though . it might start him on one of those speeches about , when I was a shy lad , Peter-son . then his mother would say , you &apos;re a very pretty little boy , darling , people love you . be brave , lamb . he shuddered , feeling weaker than ever , and made a tough , twisted face into the mirror . he felt its contours carefully , and determined to keep it there all evening . no ; he could n&apos;t because he loved Rosemary . suddenly he knew he had been thinking about the ding and the scurf in his hair so as not to have to think of her . his legs might melt away if he thought about her now . they could n&apos;t make him go to the dance though if he suddenly had to walk on his knuckles like the pavement artist outside the national Gallery . he thought about Rosemary , but her picture would n&apos;t come into his mind . he watched his legs in their sharp trousers , but they only shook like the cotton sails of a Firefly when the wind veered . in the car he said nothing . his mother was going on to one of her dotty parties , so she was practicing dotty remarks on him . she was practicing smoking cigarettes too , because she only smoked them at parties . he had to be casual ; even bored about the dance . if his mother knew about Rosemary he would probably have to wear a paper bag over his head for the rest of his life ; if he did n&apos;t fall through the floor of the car first and get crushed . he thought about that sort of death for a moment or two . his fingers moved from pocket to pocket of the stiff new suit until they found the live bullet . if he held it against his head and prayed , or scratched the tiny soft pimple of lead , it might go off . Peter is dead , his mother would have to say . if there are spare sausages and things I expect Rosemary will like them cold for lunch tomorrow . he thought about Rosemary &apos;s house . it did n&apos;t seem to have a real existence in a real place like his flannel in the bathroom , or his bicycle in the shed . he wondered how his mother would find it . anyway , she did n&apos;t seem to be able to keep a car going in a straight line for very long , as other cars he &apos;d been in managed to do . he lurched against the car door , but the bullet did n&apos;t go off . tipsy taxi , his mother called happily . Peter was thrown forward . if he was n&apos;t being pushed about by people he was being bounced around inside cars like a rag doll . everyone else had the power . he began to feel limp , exhausted , calmer ; almost to enjoy alternately having his head banged against the windscreen , and his neck dislocated on the back of the seat . he was a punch-drunk boxer sticking it out . no ; a Christian being thrown to the lions . he tried to feel himself dancing with Rosemary . or rather to feel himself stumbling clumsily after her as she led him with movements light as an angel . the lurching of the car had dazed his brain . perhaps this year , dancing with her , he would get that strange feeling he got that time when he crashed down on the tiny drip Hunter in the rugger match and somehow just had n&apos;t wanted to get up again , or let go of him , though the whistle was blowing furiously . Peter jerked suddenly upright in the car with his face on fire and his hands shaking . the shock of the idea raised a lump in his throat like a mole-hill thrown up in an instant of time . there did seem to be something alive and scratching there too . he was in love with Rosemary . it would be dirty to think of hugging her , whilst a kiss &amp;hellip; . he wanted to go to the lavatory , and laid his hand on his mother &apos;s arm . she was wrestling with the steering-wheel like Tarzan with the wolf girl and did n&apos;t notice . he forgot all about the lavatory , and instead decided that if there would be any time in his whole life when he could convert a try from the twenty-five yard line it was this very second . of course it would be with the baby game rugger ball , not one of the full size ones . he was beginning to hear the music of the first Paul Jones in his head now . he knew it would leave him facing Rosemary , but that he would immediately seize one of the forty fat ugly girls who stood each side of her . probably he would start to sulk in the middle of the dance and have to pretend to be very interested in the pattern of the wallpaper . perhaps they would think he was an artist . the whole thing might be bearable if her mother did n&apos;t sit there all the time on the sofa like a queen with silver hair . she watched him too . and her father could be just like his and say things like , your playing fields flood last term ? my youngest lad &apos;s did , you know . now do pull yourself together and dance with the girls . come along ! want a spot of whisky ? ho ! ho ! ho ! Peter found that he was out of the car with unfamiliar gravel under his feet . his mother was n&apos;t kissing him . there was light in a great glass house ; shadows moving with music and laughter . now a brighter rectangle of light appeared in the centre of the confusion and he was stumbling towards the open door . Rosemary &apos;s mother was holding out her long hand like the branch of a willow tree over the river . her hair could n&apos;t really be thunder-sky blue . Peter took the drooping hand , and looked at her just long enough to be polite , and to see if she was really like she always seemed to be in his dream . she said something , and then somehow willed him in to the dance room . music and movement was all around him , bumping against the walls . he was snatched in to a revolving chain of boys ; not , though , before he had had time to notice that they all had real dinner jackets . the music stopped . in the inner circle of girls Rosemary was facing him exactly . she smiled . so he did . then he shifted his feet and looked at the floor . now he was doing it ; taking one of the fat ugly girls on her left . he thought he saw Rosemary lift her chin in a funny way . but he knew she must like one of the boys on his either side better than him . he could n&apos;t just take her like that straight away . how old are you ? the fat girl asked . thirteen , said Peter . you must be one of Rosemary &apos;s friends not Jane &apos;s then . the girl was looking at his suit now . I have a little sister who crashes my parties and asks kids of her own age , she added . how old are you ? Peter asked stiffly . the fat girl stared at him ; pulling him around the floor as if he were a sack of something . you do n&apos;t ask a girl things like that . Peter was exasperated . well how do you know how old they are ? that is just the point , the girl said carefully . it is n&apos;t intended that the male should know . then she let go of Peter promptly , though the music had n&apos;t stopped . the music began again , and he was dragged into the revolving circle of males inside which the smaller circle of girls was spinning in the opposite direction . this time Rosemary was nowhere to be seen and an ugly thin girl grabbed him with more haste than was really polite . Peter determined to get in first . where do you go to school ? he asked , pretending to be interested and sort of intense the way his mother was at her dotty parties . the ugly thin girl told him . why &apos;s it called a ladies &apos; college ? he said . this time he actually was intrigued . are you very - are you grown up , I mean . at Cheltenham university ? the girl just giggled and pressed him nearer to her breasts . Peter swallowed twice very quickly . then the music stopped again and he began to think there was something unsatisfactory about a succession of brief relationships that were imposed and dissolved wholly at the discretion of a loud gramophone record . he caught a glimpse of Rosemary and at once fell into a trance . it occurred to him that now he had seen her the vision might be made to last another year , and so there was no reason why he should stay at the dance any longer . 