I couldn't help noticing him, because whenever I looked up there he was at the next table, staring at me and chewing a quill." "I can't understand," she confessed.

"Often and often I have tried to think myself a man--a man with ambition.

And to me that has always meant fighting.

I see myself a man, and the people between me and the prize have all to be knocked down or pushed out of the way.
But you don't even see them--all you see is a pimply-faced boy sucking a quill.

Taffy--" "Yes ?" "I wish you would write to me when you get to Oxford.
Write regularly.