Burns had been unusually antisocial that spring, passing brusquely by students on his corridor, then closing his door to drink (they surmised) and type (they could hear). “I felt the man had a huge chip on his shoulder,” recalled one student who, having heard about the legendary Burns, had eagerly anticipated his return. “I don’t remember ever seeing him smile. I sensed anger. He wasn’t the same man that had been described to me by other people.” And finally, sitting at his desk one night in late April, the rows of elms blossoming outside his window, Burns somehow conjured up the building, and
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