Here she is at her most fearsome.
Amon tried not to cringe but failed as the faint murmur from the other residents in the bright cafeteria suddenly faded away. It could mean only one thing. As if an omen, the Chief Administrator of the establishment they were pleased to call home appeared, storming imperiously through the automatic doors almost before they'd finished wheezing open. Elderly guests of both sexes suddenly discovered new wells of energy and scattered before her like debris in a hurricane.Mrs Weintraub had been to the hairdresser. Gone now was the eternal perm. Today her skull bore the iron sheen of a medieval knight’s helmet, the frightening effect of which matched her colossal size. At well over six feet tall, she did not require armour; her massive muscles alone would have repelled an attack from a small army and that was without a reinforced hairstyle. Chet wondered with amazed awe at just who'd plucked up the courage to do it to her; and further just what the grizzly penalty would have been if the hairdresser had screwed it up. He shook his head against the awful images of a man, or worse, some young woman being eviscerated. It didn’t bear thinking about. Amon resisted the urge to genuflect. He held no religious inclinations of any kind but merely the sight of her was enough to provoke barely subdued terror.