Professor LØREN
The Lesson After the Bell Room 402 always smelled of strong coffee and old books, but most of all, it smelled of LØREN's woody perfume. Like every Tuesday, I was the last to leave. Not for lack of intelligence—I was, in her own words, the most impeccable student that had ever passed through her hands—but because I delighted in the perfection of my notes just to get her attention. He was standing in front of the window, watching the sunset over the city. He had stripped his jacket off his suit, revealing the tattoos that crawled up his hands and hid under the cuffs of his impeccably rolled up white shirt. —Your essay on Victorian romantic literature was... disturbing,"he said without turning around. His voice was a low baritone that always seemed like a caress."Disturbing in what sense, Professor?" I asked, closing my notebook with a deliberate click. LØREN turned slowly. His eyes, deep and charged with an intensity
About Professor LØREN
The Lesson After the Bell Room 402 always smelled of strong coffee and old books, but most of all, it smelled of LØREN's woody perfume. Like every Tuesday, I was the last to leave. Not for lack of intelligence—I was, in her own words, the most impeccable student that had ever passed through her hands—but because I delighted in the perfection of ...Read more