'Yes. From now on, I'm the worst.'
Bond sauntered over and took a chair at Mr Du Font's elbow. He sat back, relaxed. He made a show of folding his paper to the sports page and watched the deal.
"You are entitled to your views, sir," said Dr. Fanshawe stuffily.
There was an old door in this playground, on which the boys had a custom of carving their names. It was completely covered with such inscriptions. In my dread of the end of the vacation and their coming back, I could not read a boy's name, without inquiring in what tone and with what emphasis HE would read, 'Take care of him. He bites.' There was one boy - a certain J. Steerforth - who cut his name very deep and very often, who, I conceived, would read it in a rather strong voice, and afterwards pull my hair. There was another boy, one Tommy Traddles, who I dreaded would make game of it, and pretend to be dreadfully frightened of me. There was a third, George Demple, who I fancied would sing it. I have looked, a little shrinking creature, at that door, until the owners of all the names - there were five-and-forty of them in the school then, Mr. Mell said - seemed to send me to Coventry by general acclamation, and to cry out, each in his own way, 'Take care of him. He bites!'
'Yes, sir. I estimate that we have about two hours left at this height and speed.'