When you get startled by a middleaged man on your path very early in the morning—first because you thought you were the only one in Reading who was crazy enough to be abroad at such an ungodly hour, and second because he struck you as hopelessly Chinese, or maybe Korean—and when he suddenly lights up in recognition and shouts, “good molning, Lango,” and then slows down to shake your hand, you had better hurry up, walk swiftly past him, and say in a most cheerful voice, “good to see you,” as though you have recognized him at once, for it is most likely that he was a student of yours some years back, and that stopping to greet him properly would only expose your lack of knowledge of who he really is and what you two have ever had in common. God bless the Chinese and Koreans. Besides, you may spare him some embarrassment, too, for he could have mistaken you for someone else, whose name is Lango for true.