That feeling...

"A look of triumph would light up his face as he held up a white finger which had on it the tiniest smudge of grey dust, and he would stare at us with his slightly popping pale blue eyes and say, 'You haven't cleaned it have you? You haven't bothered to clean my study properly.'
To the three of us Fags who had been slaving away for the whole of the morning, these words were simply not true. 'We've cleaned every bit of it Carleton.' we would answer. 'Every little bit.'
'In that case why has my finger got dust on it?' Carleton would say, tilting his head back and gazing at us down the length of his nose. 'This is dust, isn't it? Do any of you dispute the fact that this is dust?' Carleton would say, still holding up his finger. 'If i am wrong, do tell me.'
'It isn't much dust, Carleton.'
'I didn't ask you whether it was much dust or not much dust,' Carleton would say. 'I simply ask you whether or not it was dust. Might it, for example, be iron fillings or face powder instead?'
'No, Carleton.'
'Or crushed diamonds, maybe?'
'No, Carleton.'
'Then what is it?'
'It's... it's dust, Carleton.'
Thank you,' Carleton would say. 'At last you have admitted that you failed to clean my study properly.