Undergraduates drift into the lecture hall with the aimlessness of debris washing up on a shore after a shipwreck. They sink wearily into chairs, their limbs angling off in all directions, their eyes glazed over, their mouths sagging open in what appear to be permanent yawns. The minute hand of the large wall clock clicks loudly onto two minutes to the hour. The hour is eleven A.M.
“I mark on a curve,” Professor Bellwether is explaining to Lemuel in front of the blackboard. She gestures toward the students scattered around the sloping lecture hall. “Take this class, which is listed in the catalogue as ‘Introductory Chaos.’ Out of eighteen students, I give two A’s, ten B’s, six C’s.”
“No D’s, no F’s?” Lemuel asks.
Miss Bellwether snickers. “You
