Golf is the Great Mystery.

Few of them were to be trusted within reach of a trowel and a pile of bricks.

The Duke of Dunstable had one-way pockets. He would walk ten miles in the snow to chisel an orphan out of tuppence.

Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. He looked like a man who would write vers libre, as indeed he did.

You agreee with me that the situation is a lulu? Certainly, a somewhat sharp crisis in your affairs would appear to have been precipitated, Sir.

The stationmaster's whiskers are of a Victorian bushiness and give the impression of having been grown under glass.

I wonder what Tommy Morris would have had to say to all this number 6-iron, number 12-iron, number 28-iron stuff. He probably wouldn't have said anything, just made one of those strange Scottish noises at the back of his throat like someone gargling.