![]() He turns to the blackboard and dashes off a short sentence in ancient Greek. When she’d seen it in their first lesson, she’d thought of it as marking where tears had once flowed.īehind pale-green lenses, the man’s eyes are fixed on the woman’s tightly shut mouth. The woman gazes up at the scar that runs in a slender pale curve from the edge of his left eyelid to the edge of his mouth. ![]() The sleeves are a bit short, exposing his wrists. His dark-brown corduroy jacket has fawn-colored leather elbow patches. A faint smile of restrained emotion plays around his mouth. He is slight, with eyebrows like bold accents over his eyes and a deep groove at the base of his nose. The man standing by the blackboard looks to be in his mid- to late thirties. ![]() ‘My,’ ‘our.’ ” The three students read, their voices low and shy. He moves his gaze over the baby-faced university student who sits in the same row as the woman, the middle-aged man half hidden behind a pillar, and the young postgraduate student sitting by the window, slouching in his chair. ![]() “Let’s all read it together.” The man cannot wait for the woman any longer. Han Kang on how language misses its mark. ![]()
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