Tubby, she reminded herself, was just a half-wit, if that, and no girl of intelligence would allow herself to regard any observations which he might make as anything but the crackling of thorns beneath the pot. She did not intend to give another thought to his idiotic droolings. Her conversation with him as just an unpleasant incident of the past, to be buried away and forgotten, like mumps and the time when she had been sick at the children's party.
(from Summer Moonshine, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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