They did not seem to attach any importance to them, and, indeed, laughed every time he alluded to them or drew public attention to his scars.

Two or three of the scratches on his legs were really bad ones, and while he was standing waiting he turned down his stockings and gazed at these with pitying eyes and something like a sob in his throat.
"Nobody cares!" he muttered, and one of his ever-ready tears fell splashing down on one extended bare leg.

"Judy likes Pip best, and he never climbed the cactus; Meg thinks I tell stories; and Nellie says I'm a greedy pig--nobody cares!" Another great fat tear gathered and fell.

"Have you taken root there ?" a voice asked.
His father, smoking at the open french window, had been watching him, and marvelling at his rare and exceeding quietness.
Bunty started, guiltily, and pulled up his stockings.
"I'm not doin' nothin'," he said aggrievedly, after a minute's pause.

Bunty always lapsed into evil grammar when agitated.