"What are you still doing in the corridor, Candy Quackenbush?" she yelled down the corridor. "I told you to report to the principal's office."

Everyone in the classes along the passage had heard the woman, Candy knew. Tomorrow she'd be the butt of every idiotic joke. Candy glanced over her shoulder. Miss Schwartz was gaining on her, her arms crossed in front of her bosom. Held captive behind them was the evidence for the prosecution: Candy's workbook and the paper on Henry Murkitt. Poor Henry Murkitt, sitting in that cold little room in the hotel, waiting with his sextant for a ship to come and find him. Checking the stars, consulting his watch. Waiting and waiting until he could stand the wait no longer.

Candy looked away from Miss Schwartz, her gaze returning to the rectangle of brightness at the end of the corridor.

And still the lines rolled on in her mind's eye. Rolled and broke. Rolled and broke.

"Where do you think you're going?" Miss Schwartz demanded.

Candy's feet knew, even if her brain was a little slow at catching up with the idea. They were taking her out of here.

"You head right back to the principal's office!" Miss Schwartz called after her.

Candy didn't really hear the woman's words very clearly now. The lines in her head were making a sound , like the din of white noise on an untuned television. It washed away Miss Schwartz's demands.

"Candy Quackenbush! Come back here!"

Her shrill voice was being heard from one end of the school to the other, but the person to whom they were directed was deaf to them.

Out she went, with Miss Schwartz pursuing her, inventing new threats and demands to throw in Candy's direction. Candy took no notice of them.

She stepped over the threshold and out into the bright morning.

A little portion of her mind still said: Candy, turn around. What are you doing? They'll expel you for certain , but the voice was too small to convince her feet.