In fact, he was inordinately good, extravagantly good, offensively good, detestably good--and he had pop-eyes--and I would have drowned him if I had had a chance.

In that school we were all about on an equality, and, so far as I remember, the passion of envy had no place in our hearts, except in the case of Arch Fuqua--the other one's brother.

Of course we all went barefoot in the summer-time.

Arch Fuqua was about my own age--ten or eleven.

In the winter we could stand him, because he wore shoes then, and his great gift was hidden from our sight and we were enabled to forget it.