Then Perrin had Garden Minimus in his hands. The boy's sulking, frowning face drove him to fury. He suddenly felt (as though it had leapt wildly from some dark corner on to his shoulder) the Cat of Cruelty purring at his ear. It was an animal whose whispers he heard, as a rule, only when the term was well advanced; now it was upon him. He knew, suddenly, that he would like to take Garden Minimus's ears in his hands and twist them back further and further until they cracked. He would like to take his little fat arms and close his fingers about them and pinch them until they were blue. He would like to take the sharp, white knuckles and beat them with a ruler. Garden had chubby cheeks and bright blue eyes. Perrin began to pull, very gently, his hair. Garden wriggled a little. “Take the triangle A B C,” he began, and stopped. Perrin began to pinch the back of his neck. “You have said that six times now, Garden. Say it again, because I am sure the rest of the form are immensely interested. Really, I grieve to think of the amount of time that you must have spent over your preparation last night. You 'll be overdoing it if you go on like this, you know—you will, really. You mustn't work so hard. Meanwhile write it out thirty times, and say it to me to-night after tea.” But he did not let him go. He passed his hand down the boy's arm.... He saw the form watching him with white faces; his own was white; he was shaking with rage. “Go back to your seat,” he said in a whisper, and he gave him a push. He sent the form back to learn the work again, and he sat for the rest of the hour with his head between his hands. Then, when the bell had rung and most of the form had filed out, he called Garden to him. “I think fifteen times will be enough,” and he touched the boy's sleeve with his hand. But Garden went out of the room in silence, infinite contempt in his eyes.