A massive charcoal-gray goat clatters into the upper corridor, hooves striking the stone beneath the gas bracket. Boys gather at a cautious distance as he bleats and shakes his shaggy coat.
Peter Hogg
Sir, that page has gone beneath the bench. I can see part of the restriction, including the words about reporting only direct duties.
A loose sheet skitters from the service account, kicked or lifted by the commotion, and disappears beneath a wooden bench. Peter points toward it from O’Hanlon’s doorway, his copying halted.
the senior prefect
No one touches it until the matter is decided. If it belongs to the account, it is evidence; if not, it is merely disorder.
Geoffrey O'Hanlon
The page will be recovered carefully. A written restriction cannot be dismissed because boys failed to secure their papers, but neither will I assume its meaning before reading it.
O’Hanlon steps into the corridor, keeping the goat in view while directing the senior prefect to guard the bench. The older prefect remains by his study door, rigid and watchful.
Geoffrey O'Hanlon
Hogg, resume your place. Turing, remain where you are. Until I inspect that sheet, nobody will claim either a new offence or a new protection.
Restore the written safeguard’s meaning