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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