It was four-ten. I nearly began to weep. It was bad enough to be caned — worse was the interminable waiting! Finally I heard a slight creak from the corridor. Every muscle in my body tensed in horror as footsteps approached. The door slowly creaked open. But instead of the ponderous bulk of Mr. Grimm, the Headmaster, a tall, elegant woman entered. My gasp was distinctly audible in the quiet. She turned and looked toward me, her angelic face pale with rosy cheeks and bright blue-green eyes. “M-Miss Craven!” I nearly shouted, leaping to my feet. The Assistant Head was every schoolboy’s dream. Her neat, curly blonde hair was trimmed short around her oval-shaped face.
A Trip to the Head9
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