Everyone called him the lieutenant. He was a strict man, and his students hated him for it. He required clarity in everything, and that requires a lot of effort. He walked like a soldier, back straight, shoulders stiff, chin up. It was better than a shield; his students were cowed by his posture, and by December, most would settle down enough to think about the relationships between spices and history, politics and literature, personality and social change. By the end of the year, he'd be Lieut, and his students would be practically waxing poetic.
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