animal painting

animal painting
One afternoon (I had then been three weeks at Lowood), as I was
sitting with a slate in my hand, puzzling over a sum in long division,
my eyes, raised in abstraction to the window, caught sight of a figure
just passing: I recognised almost instinctively that gaunt outline;
and when, two minutes after, all the school, teachers included, rose
en masse, it was not necessary for me to look up in order to ascertain
whose entrance they thus greeted. A long stride measured the
schoolroom, and presently beside Miss Temple, who herself had risen,
stood the same black column which had frowned on me so ominously
animal painting
from the hearthrug of Gateshead. I now glanced sideways at this
piece of architecture. Yes, I was right: it was Mr. Brocklehurst,
buttoned up in a surtout, and looking longer, narrower, and more rigid
than ever.
I had my own reasons for being dismayed at this apparition; too
well I remembered the perfidious hints given by Mrs. Reed about my
disposition, etc.; the promise pledged by Mr. Brocklehurst to
animal painting