Free Wilberforce by H. S. Cross Page A

morning, Morgan saw signs that his bargain had succeeded. The JCR followed through on its threat, and the Third turned up to breakfast visibly subdued. No further word of burning reached them. Grieves had the spite to inflict his composition after all, but Laurie pointed out that the teeth would be in the marking. If Grieves depleted spectators for the Sedbergh match, the Headmaster would annihilate him; QED, Grievous was bluffing.
    This was an optimistic hypothesis for an optimistic day. At Games, Morgan and Laurie watched from the sidelines as REN’s XV made hash of their own, but this depressing outcome did not disrupt Morgan’s sanity. He did not look for Spaulding. No one got injured. Disaster had been averted. The coast was clear, of high tides, low tides, hurricanes, and fog.
    By the time Prep rolled around, he had to face the fact that the shadow had departed and that therefore he would have to keep his vows. He had already begun to forget Spaulding, Alex remained out of reach in the Tower, and the new PE regime would begin at bedtime (or possibly the following morning). In the meantime, he felt he ought to do everything possible to build up his equilibrium. He took Laurie’s book of sonnets to the drying cupboard of their own changing room. With a furious plunge, the dart of love shot true to its mark. The collision with her hymen was most destructive, and the virgin defenses gave way as, with an awful shriek of pain, she lost all consciousness. He completed the conquest and then lay soaking, trying to revive her sensibility by his lascivious throbbing inside of her, whilst we applied salts and restoratives to bring her round.
    Calm did not descend, which might have distressed him were he not inhabiting an optimistic age, but he was occupying an optimistic age, and in the optimistic age a second quick release could be permitted for the purposes of equilibrium. The rod is delicious if skillfully applied after the delights of coition. Or perhaps after a short reverie … You’re up to your balls in trouble  …
    When he returned to the study with his usual excuse of the Tower, Laurie and Nathan fell upon him:
    â€”What’s the news? Who got burnt?
    â€”How many were there?
    They continued this inconvenient line of questioning until Morgan realized the awkwardness of his error. It might have been all right if he’d told the truth casually from the start, but now his omission had given PE a significance he’d never meant it to have. If he admitted it now, they’d think him thoroughly disordered, and Laurie might even get it into his head that Morgan had been in the changer with someone else.
    â€”What did Alex say?
    â€”Nothing. He …
    â€”Quit diddling us around, Laurie said. Just tell the truth!
    â€”What’s the matter with you? Nathan demanded. You aren’t yourself, and you haven’t been for some time.
    Morgan stood against the wall, breath caustic, as if gas had been released in their room and only he lacked a mask. Here were his friends, his only allies anywhere on earth, denouncing him as a liar and a stranger. What were the countermeasures against gas, again? Hadn’t Grieves said one was supposed to stand still, that those who tried to run made it worse? Those who stood on the parapets of the trenches fared best, Grieves had told him. Until someone shot them.
    â€”I don’t think you’re being fair, Morgan said.
    â€”Don’t you? Nathan retaliated. Well, we don’t think it’s fair when you pretend you’re on our side and then go conspire with Alex in the Tower.
    â€”What!
    Nathan turned to Laurie in fury:
    â€”Told you he’d never listen.
    â€”Are we your friends or aren’t we? Laurie demanded.
    â€”Of course!
    â€”Then how are we supposed to defend you if you act this way?
    How had things got to this ludicrous point? They suspected him of deceiving them and conniving with Alex to blow up the