Dr. Linus was the best history teacher Alex had ever had. He talked about history as if he was telling a story he had lived through. He made you see in your mind what had happened—there was power and magic in his voice, like he could make real what he told them about. He made her love the heroes, Washington and Wellington and George VI, but he seemed to have a special affinity for the bad guys, as if he understood what was going on in their heads. Napoleon had never been so real before, never so vivid and scary and oddly pathetic, an unimpressive little man driving all before him, taking everything he could, and ultimately catastrophically failing. She thought she could see him, stranded on that island where he died after making his final attempt to retake what had once been his, and he looked strangely like Dr. Linus. Which was ridiculous, because no one could be further from crazed, megalomaniacal genius than sweet Dr. Linus.