The Corpse Washer (The Margellos World Republic Of Letters) - Plot & Excerpts
I was late for my art history class that morning because I had decided to sleep an extra fifteen minutes past the alarm. The professor was strict about attendance and wouldn’t allow anyone who was more than ten minutes late to enter. Students called him “The Englishman” because of his obsession with time and because of the fluency and excessive—and somewhat pretentious—accuracy with which he pronounced various English terms. I was panting when I quietly opened the door to the lecture hall. I thought maybe he’d forgive me, but he shook his index finger and pointed to his watch and gestured to me to close the door. I did and walked to the kiosk outside the academy and bought a copy of al-Jumhuriyya. I read the headlines on my way to the cafeteria. Nothing new except military communiqués and constant victories over the enemy. I folded it and put it with my books. I went to the cafeteria, because I hadn’t had time to have breakfast at home. I bought a white cheese sandwich and a cup of tea.
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