There was such stillness and silence, apart from the scratching of my pen, and the whole place seemed to soften as the light outside disappeared. I had that lovely feeling of being brisk and organized, a teacher in control of her lessons, fully prepared for the work that lay ahead. It was during these moments, sitting alone at my desk, surrounded by dust and quiet, that I would convince myself that the children liked me. Perhaps, I thought, some of them even loved me. After all, hadn’t they been well-behaved that day? And didn’t every day now end with a triumphant story time, when I read aloud
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