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At the chalkface: Cheating

This happened nigh on 30 ages ago, but I’ve sometimes worried that it might have constituted cheating. Did it make a difference to Plum’s final grade?

I’m pacing hatchet-faced between desks. Pupils are sitting hatchet-faced at them. They drudge away, tense, sullen, anxious.

We are in an exam hall. We are in an exam hell. I am The Invigilator.

I do gravitas and gaze frostily at their faces, many replete with struggle, resentment and defeat. I spot a hand raised. It belongs to Dennis Plum. His face is blank and quizzical. He seems to be summoning me.

I give him nil eye contact and pass him by like a hanging judge. I hear the sound of my footsteps. I turn round. His arm is still raised. I pass pitilessly by. I turn a third time. Still his arm is raised. I stop. He whispers in my ear.

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