November 28, 2015

Zebulon Sisselthacket removed his scarf with a flamboyant gesture of defiance, looking around first to make certain he was alone in the cloakroom. Then he flung the shoddy rag to the floor, stifling a sob.

‘What’s going on in there, Sisslethacket? Come out at once and take what’s coming to you,’ boomed the voice of Headmaster Clanders.

‘Sorry, sir. Sorry, sir. Ever so sorry,’ whined Zebulon, emerging from the cloakroom and bowing back and forth like a zombie on a spring.

‘Here then. Take this and get out,’ said the headmaster.

Forced to accept the new green and red plaid scarf, Zebulon Sisselthacket shuffled from the room, already in mourning for the precious dirty gray, formerly bright yellow, scarf he had worn for years and years and years.

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