Schooldays of C.S. Lewis - boarding school misery and theological crisis.

Back in Fribble's stifling room, Lewis and Parsley are still on their knees, scrubbing at the boards while Fribble watches from the chair. His jacket hangs carelessly over one armrest, and the pocket bulges with the stolen note.

Lewis catches the outline at once. The paper is not just a scrap, it is leverage.

Fribble turns to bark an order at Parsley, and the jacket slips farther down. The edge of the note shows for a heartbeat, folded tight and creased from being handled too often.

Lewis shifts his cloth, just enough to edge nearer the chair. The note comes free with the slightest tug, hidden now in the rag as Fribble keeps talking, oblivious.

When Lewis opens it under the cloth, the writing is plain enough to sting. It is not a demand or an errand list. It names a meeting, a payment, and the boys who are meant to keep quiet.

Across the room, Fribble still sits with his back half-turned, certain of his control. Between Lewis's hands, the school suddenly looks less untouchable.

Fribble's attention snaps off the floor at once. Parsley stiffens beside Lewis, and the room goes very still around the scattered books and papers.

Fribble rises, chair legs scraping the boards, and turns fully toward Parsley. In that small second, Lewis slides back from the skirting and folds the note deeper into his rag.

Lewis is at the door before Fribble finishes speaking. The pocketed jacket stays behind him, and with it Fribble's confidence in where the evidence is.

As Lewis slips out, he catches a fresh detail, the note carries a time and place for another boy's meeting, not just Fribble's errands. Inside, Fribble is already speaking to Parsley in a lower voice.