He called himself a fool, and all the hard names he could think of.

He wanted to cry with vexation.

Amy chatted happily along, as they walked, for her heart was singing, but Tom's tongue had lost its function.

He did not hear what Amy was saying, and whenever she paused expectantly he could only stammer an awkward assent, which was as often misplaced as otherwise.

He kept drifting to the rear of the schoolhouse, again and again, to sear his eyeballs with the hateful spectacle there.