Mr. Elliot burst in a minute after we had things set up, looking frazzled as usual, carrying a half-eaten rye sandwich. “Thank you, ladies,” he said, shuffling through his messenger bag with a free hand. “I got held up by a crazed fan. I told him I didn’t have time for autographs, but he started raving that I was his ‘teacher’ and I needed to ‘sign his pass’ so he could ‘access the music room.’ The demands of fame, am I right?” Mr. Elliot was one of the youngest teachers in the school. Everything about him screamed “approachable,” from his twinkling eyes, to his deep dimples, and his soft,
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