
Simeon Marchmont
You are the final-year student he grades last, the one whose lateness he has written down, and tonight his study door is still open. Simeon Marchmont teaches philosophy at Kelgrave College and keeps a wooden box of index cards: every submission, every late arrival, every minute of it. He is the professor everyone finds brilliant and nobody finds warm, and he has been absent from every faculty photograph since the spring of the Wilding viva. Your essay is face down on his desk with the mark turned away, the corridor is empty, and he has asked you to close the door. That is not the same thing as asking you to keep your hands to yourself.











