aimed at giving old-fashioned Beardsley School a financially remunerative modern touch,
Vladimir Nabokov. Lolita
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my sister spoke to me as if she were morally wrenching one of my teeth out at every reference; while Pumblechook himself, self-constituted my patron, would sit supervising me with a depreciatory eye, like the architect of my fortunes who thought himself engaged on a very unremunerative job.