Azar Nafisi (1950–) from Sections 16, 17, 18, and 19 of Part II, “Gatsby,” Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books (2002)
It was late; I had been at the library. I was spending a great deal of time there now, as it was becoming more and more difficult to find “imperialist” novels in bookstores. I was emerging from the library with a few books under my arm when I noticed him standing by the door. His two hands were joined in front of him in an expression of reverence for me, his teacher, but in his strained grimace I could feel his sense of power. I remember Mr. Nyazi always with a white shirt, buttoned up to the neck— he never tucked it in. He was stocky and had blue eyes, very closely cropped light brown hair and a thick, pinkish neck. It seemed as if his neck were made of soft clay; it literally sat on his shirt collar. He was always very polite.
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