His deep voice filled the room, leaking into the hallway and under doors. It swelled, hitting a high note before falling, down, down, down in an elegance only he could hear. His students, they looked on with dismayed faces. How could this man be their teacher, they wondered.
He looked at their faces then down at the book, his voice drifting to silence. Those looks, they were why he was running an English school. If good for nothing else, at least his voice could keep them awake, he reassured his dying dream.
At least he could keep them awake.