Still tongue-tied and at a loss with the turn of events, Principal Churchill brooked no room for protests as she continued, her demeanor morphing from the soft-spoken lady of two seconds to her usually authoritative, demeaning persona. “This little tiff is not to leave the walls of this room under any circumstances. Do you understand, Mr Cartwright?” She thrusted the cheque at me, face taut with annoyance. “If you have any objections to all I've said, you can tell me. Or rather, tell us. You're too silent for Christssake. You're a man, not a dumb.” What in fuck's sake does the witch expect me to say? What does she want from me? Here she was, practically begging me to save her son's reputation and yet, she was still gutsy enough to force me to it by paying me off like I'm some goon who'd gotten his hands dirty for her. It was most ridiculous! Her hate for me was so stifling, it made me mad! Was it my fault, that, I wasn't born into a wealthy, well-to-do family? Was it my fault that we
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