All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. You see, aunt, it’s the only possible way for me to get a good degree in my subjects, and father won’t hear of it. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. Section 3.
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