"...we went to Dean Rodgers' office for a meeting. The Dean was alone up there, somber and waiting. We'd seen him a few times before, on campus visits, and if appearances meant anything, he'd seemed like the right man for his job. Today he was wearing tan hush puppies, wide-wale corduroys, a button-down white oxford shirt under V-neck lamb's wool sweater, and big horn-rimmed glasses; every inch the owlish academician, smoking nervous cigarettes, one after the other. His opening sentence astounded me.

"I'm a man of words." he said, "And for once I can't find anything to say."

A man of words? It seemed a strange identity for Dean Rodgers to assume. If anything, I had thought the head of a college would be a man of truth or a man of knowledge. Didn't men of words go into politics or advertising? The second part of his declaration made me nervous. Did it mean that we would not be given any substantive new information about Galen's death?"

from Chapter 2, THE MAN OF WORDS

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