Memoir of an Old Male Professor
Naomi Washer

He closed the book of Haitian folk tales and gazed at his students in the seats. He adjusted his round, brown glasses and reached toward his briefcase, unclasped the locks and placed the book tenderly inside. He cleared his throat and it rumbled. He felt as though there were an orange seed caught in there, though he had not eaten an orange for breakfast that day.

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