The more he mused on L. P. Green, the more remote seemed the prospect of any girl betrothed to him deciding to do the sensible thing and detach herself from him. True, only a handful of the six hundred and forty-three pupils at the ancient foundation at which he had been educated had excelled L. P. Green as stinkers, but girls are sadly apt not to allow themselves to be influenced by a man's moral shortcomings. The outer crust rather than the soul within is what appeals to them, and it was futile to pretend that the outer crust of L. P. Green was not exceptional. And all he, Bill Hardy, had to pit against it was an honest heart and a certain rude skill at getting cats down from trees.
(from The Purloined Paperweight, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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