iduality seemed to me sheer disgrace。 And when； as often happened； the drill…sergeant rebuked me for some inefficiency as I stood in line； when he addressed me as 〃Number Seven！〃 I burned with shame and rage。 I was no longer a human being； I had bee part of a machine； and my name was 〃Number Seven。〃 It used to astonish me when I had a neighbour who went through the drill with amusement； with zealous energy； I would gaze at the boy； and ask myself how it was possible that he and I should feel so differently。 To be sure； nearly all my schoolfellows either enjoyed the thing； or at all events went through it with indifference； they made friends with the sergeant； and some were proud of walking with him 〃out of bounds。〃 Left； right！ Left； right！ For my own part； I think I have never hated man as I hated that broad…shouldered； hard…visaged； brassy…voiced fellow。 Every word he spoke to me； I felt as an insult。 Seeing him in the distance； I have turned and fled； to escape the necessity of saluting； and； still more； a quiver of the nerves which affected me so painfully。 If ever a man did me harm； it was he； harm physical and moral。 In all seriousness I believe that something of the nervous instability from which I have suffered since boyhood is traceable to those accursed hours of drill； and I am very sure that I can date from the same wretched moments a fierceness of personal pride which has been one of my most troublesome characteristics。 The disposition； of course； was there； it sh