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what seemed like a tremendous effort, stood up. He walked slowly
over to the window and stood there for a long time ... as if contem-
plating some major decision. Suddenly he wheeled around and stood
facing the class. Cliff noticed the perplexity and anger the professor's
face seemed to reveal. Deese cleared his throat, and appeared ready
to make some overwhelming statement, then turned around and once
more gazed out the window.

Cliff's eyes were glued to Deese as if in a hypnotic trance. A few
seconds more-all I've got, he told himself. Cliff considered for a
second the possibility of trying to lie his way out, but that would
be worse, because the evidence was right in the blue book, and there
w.as no way he could get rid of it now. Deese would come over, ask
him to hand in his work and leave the class, and he could start his
vacation ... his permanent vacation.

Deese finally turned, and walked straight toward Cliff. He stood
for a long time looking down at Cliff, as if admiring his progress.
~liff was suddenly aware no one else in the room had the slightest
Idea what was happening. They were all huddled over their desks,
concentrating, not even the least bit conscious of the whereabouts of
?eese, or what was about to take place. Thirty-five people entirely
ImmUne.
. Cliff was far from being immune. Small, white beads of perspira-
non stood out on his forehead as he blinked and refocused on the
paper lying in front of him. His shirt was drenched with sweat, and
his throat constricted so he could hardly gasp air. His eyes were
lowered to the paper on the desk, but he couldn't see. He was sud-
denly possessed of a sniffling irritability in his nose, and his eyes
smarted and watered. A cough started, but it choked in his throat,
and he felt as if he must vomit any second. He was conscious of
Deese hulking over his shoulder, but he was deathly afraid to look
up. Deese stayed there, silent, watching, waiting, for what seemed
alm,ost like an eternity to Cliff, whose pencil had frozen in his hand.
It was poised there, ready for action, but impotent, immovable. Cliff
noticed the ink blurred from the sweat dripping off him. The heat ...

"Mr. Clifford Wicker," Deese uttered as he bent over Cliff's
shoulder and examined his work. He had this boy's destiny right in
the palm of his hand, and· the question of right or wrong couldn't

balance the scale.
. Cliff was shaking terribly, as if he were suddenly attacked by some

kmd of fit. He knew he was shaking, and tried his best to fight it,
but couldn't stop. Tears fought their way into the corner of each

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