Her words, too, were written in fine flame across his childish mind.

Paul began to live the life of dreams.
He longed for books.

The fragmentary glimpses of history and geography in the Board school standard whetted without satisfying his imagination.

There was not a book in the house in Budge Street, and he had never a penny to buy one.

Sometimes Button would bring home a dirty newspaper, which Paul would steal and read in secret, but its contents seemed to lack continuity.