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He looked like a child who had been slightly misdelivered, with some subpar forceps handling by the attending.
But despite his odd appearance Eliot had an air of effortless self-possession that made Quentin urgently want to be his friend, or maybe just be him period.
The shrubbery was so dense that no light penetrated through it, but here and there a heavy yellow stripe of sun fell across the path from above.
He felt like he was having a not-unpleasant drug experience.
The instant it opened hundreds of eyes flicked up and fixed themselves on Quentin. The room was long and airy and full of individual wooden desks arranged in rows. At each desk sat a serious-looking teenager. It was a classroom,
