Fifteen Year Old – Charles Bovary
In the corner behind the door, only just visible, stood a country lad of about fifteen, taller than any of us, with hair cut square on the forehead like a village chorister; sensible-looking and extremely ill at ease. He had on a short green jacket with black buttons, which must have pinched him under the arms although he was not broad shouldered, and which revealed at the cuffs a glimpse of red wrists that were used to going bare. His breeches were fawn-coloured and braced up tight, his legs were clad in blue stockings, and on his feet he wore a pair of sturdy, unpolished hobnail boots.
We began going over a lesson. He was all ears, he listened as if it were the sermon in church, not daring even to cross his legs or lean on his elbow; and when the bell rang at two o’clock, the master was obliged to tell him that he could go along with the rest of us.
