I feel sorry for the ending of the main character. But whenever I think about his glory days, my sorrow is once again replaced with wonder and admiration.
And I had tried to talk to Sana then. But sitting on a bed in a cold, bare basement room, she had been withdrawn behind a wall of grief, managing to speak barely a handful of words.
McWhorter acknowledges that formal language is not strictly necessary, and proposes no radical education reforms—he is really grieving over the loss of something beautiful more than useful.