" Myron wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not. The corridor had the stale stench of spilled beer and academic worry. There was a bulletin board overloaded with flyers, meetings for all kinds of groups and clubs, everything from badminton to belly dancing, from feminist thought to flute choir. There were clubs with names Myron didn’t understand, like Orchesis or Gayaa or Taal, and what was the Venom Step Team? “For "
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