Ethan Allen University—December 18
Leland didn’t try to hide his impatience. He knew he had the upper hand and took it. Sweat beaded on the forehead of the twenty-nine-year old doctoral student sitting across from him.
Rhoda, his student worker, rocked in her chair, pretending to study but glancing up now and then as the conversation became more heated. She was nineteen, had shoulder-length hair streaked with purple, a piercing under her lower lip, and silver moons dangling from her right ear. A plaid shirt and jeans completed the package. He liked her. Not everyone did. Rhoda had a kind of sweetness, an innocence that lasted about as long as it took her to open her mouth.
“All right, Mr. Finch,” he said. “What’s your question?”
“I…I don’t think I have one,” Finch replied in a shaky vo
