A little boy had been taught geography by an old woman who kept two brushes in her wardrobe. Stephen took his place silently on the step below the group of students, heedless of the rain which fell fast, turning his eyes towards her from time to time. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. The sad quiet grey-blue glow of the dying day came through the window and the open door, covering over and allaying quietly a sudden instinct of remorse in Stephen's heart.
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