By this time, my little Master Thomas had learned how to write and had written over a number of copybooks.

此时，我的小主人托马斯已经学会如何，了几本帖了。

He thrust the copybook into the table drawer and went back to bed.

他把帖塞桌子的抽屉里， 然后回到床上。

During this time, my copybook was the board fence, brick wall, and the pavement; my pen and ink was a lump of chalk.

那时候，木栅栏、砖墙、路面就是我的本，粉笔就是我的钢笔和墨水。

" I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copybooks, and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end, " he said dolefully.

“我一直在翻新的叶子，破坏它们，就像我过去破坏我的本一样，我做了很多开始，永远不会结束，”他悲伤地说。