Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 47 — page 70: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

He didn’t ask for much. Just the power TO SHAKE THE STARS 66 #R RFIE!” They'd shouted after him, slinking along the passage lead- ing away from Prep Room. “Orfie! Come on, fellows! Scrag him!’ He’d run then. Run on thin, agile legs and the hatred and loathing and pity for the boys behind him was all mixed up with his own contempt. He’d run until the blood pulsed thunderingly in his ears from his kicking heart, like a mouse scrabbling frantically behind the wainscotting. They'd caught him. Two husky fifteen-year-olds, spring- ing, whooping like hounds, from a side-passage. He could smell the clean, scrubbed, carbolic soap smell of them, He felt their raw, redly bare knees gouging him. Their quick, nervous, excited gig- 69 by PETER GREEN gling came over the sound of their blows. | Oh, it was fun! “Bright boy!’ someone screeched in his ear. *“Teacher’s pet!’’ “Scrag him! Scrag him!” they all chorused. **Hold onto him, you idiots! Don’t let perfect little Orfie get away!” Marshal’s voice. Deep, broken this term. Marshal, prefect and perfect bully. He hated Marshal! The big, freckled hand that could push a tackling forward away with such ease twisted now in his collar. His tie dragged under his ear. His school tie. He’d been proud of that. Once. Before he’d found out what devils — ordinary, unthinking, uncaring schoolboys could be. comicloooks.conn