My lessons were like that day after day. Even when I did well I was given more work to do, because the Murdstones did not wish me to sit doing nothing. I became silent, unhappy. My only happiness was a set of books which had belonged to my father. I found them in a room near my own. I had Robinson Crusoe and The Vicar of Wakefield and a book of travels, and many other books. These books were a way of escaping from the unhappiness of my life.
One morning I went into the sitting room with my book. I saw my mother looking anxious. Miss Murdstone was looking firm, and Mr Murdstone had a stick in his hand.
"I tell you, Clara," said Mr Murdstone, "that I have often been beaten myself."
"Yes, of course," said Miss Murdstone.
“Yes, my dear Jane," said my mother, "but do you think that it did Edward good?"
"Do you think that it did Edward harm?" asked Miss Murdstone.
Mr Murdstone looked at me, still holding the stick in his hand. "Now, David," he said, "you must be more careful than usual." And he held up the stick.
Of course I was worse than usual. I began badly and went on worse. I could not remember anything. At last my mother began to cry.
"Clara!" said Miss Murdstone.
"I am not feeling well today," said my mother.
"Clara," said Mr Murdstone, "you are not yet firm enough to bear the trouble this boy has given you today. David, you and I will go upstairs."
As he led me out of the door, my mother ran towards me. Miss Murdstone said, "Clara! Are you a perfect fool?" I heard my mother crying as we went upstairs.
"Oh, Mr Murdstone, sir," I cried, "please don't beat me. I have tried to learn, but I can't learn when you and Miss Murdstone are near."
He took my head under his arm. I bit his hand. Then he beat me as if he would beat me to death. We made a terrible noise. He was beating; I was crying out; and, above the noise of the beating, I heard them running upstairs, and I heard my mother and Peggotty crying. Then he was gone. The door was locked. And I was lying on the floor.
After a time I became quiet. I listened. There was not a sound in the house. I looked at my face in the glass - so red and swollen that it frightened me. I felt bad - as if I had done some terribly bad thing. What would happen to me? Would I be sent to prison?
Then the door opened. Miss Murdstone came in with some bread and milk. She put them down on the table. Then she looked at me firmly, went out, and locked the door again.