He was histrionic in his anguish.
A fly settled on his back--a damp, sluggish fly that had survived the winter--and it crawled horribly up his spine.

He bore it for a few moments, and then his over-excited nerves gave way and he dashed his hand behind him.

Somebody laughed.

He raised his clenched fists and glared at the class.
"Ay, yo' can laugh--you can laugh till yo' bust!" he cried, falling back into his Lancashire accent.

"But yo'll never see me, here agen.
Never, never, never, so help me God!" He rushed away.