"Why do you think that cheery old Baxter, a delightful personality if ever I knew one, suspects me?"
"It's the way he looks at you."
"I know what you mean, but I attribute no importance to it. As far as I have been able to ascertain during my brief visit, he looks at everybody and everything in precisely the same way. Only last night at dinner I obserfed him glaring with keen mistrust at about as blameless and innocent a plate of clear soup as was ever dished up. He then proceeded to shovel it down with quite undisguised relish. So possibly you are all wrong about his motive for looking at me like that. It may be admiration."
"Well, I don't like it."
"Nor, from an aesthetic point of view, do I. But we mut bear these things manfully. We mut remind ourselves that it is Baxter's misfortune rather than his fault that he looks like a dyspeptic lizard."
(from Leave It To Psmith, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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