That was always less conspicuous. Then, when he stood at the end of class and walked to his locker and to the school bus, his un-tucked tee shirt woul... hide most of the evidence. The class was reviewing for the final exam in two days. Peter, hand in pocket, brought his bottom up and at the same time leaned forward, pencil in his right hand, and made a note in the margin of his text, as if he'd actually heard what Ms. Spyri had said and thought it important enough to write down. That cover. It could have been our own fears, amplified by the fact that everyone was touching and feeding off one another, or it was just how the opening at the end of the tunnel looked. It was a doorway, like any other, but for some reason it held a foreboding none of us were prepared for. I could feel everyone's fears dance along our line. That's how we walked, in a straight line, because the drapes lining the sides of the tunnel made it too narrow for us to precede two or more at a time without so much. More

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