“It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. Kneebone invariably takes part with me, when any trifling misunderstanding arises between us. One was in the Indian Civil Service and one in the rapidly developing motor business. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. I burned it. Play foul, and win. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back.
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