A little over a month ago, I sent Oxford a rejection email that parodied the thousands that they send each year. Much to my surprise, it has become a bit of an Internet hit, and has provoked reactions of both horror and amusement.

In my letter I wrote: "I have now considered your establishment as a place to read Law (Jurisprudence). I very much regret to inform you that I will be withdrawing my application. I realize you may be disappointed by this decision, but you were in competition with many fantastic universities and following your interview, I am afraid you do not quite meet the standard of the universities I will be considering."

I sent the email after returning from my interview at Magdalen College, Oxford, to prove to a couple of my friends that Oxbridge did not need to be held in awe. One of them subsequently shared it on Facebook because he found it funny.

I certainly did not expect the email to spread as far as it has. Varying between offers of TV interviews and hundreds of enthusiastic Facebook messages, it has certainly been far-⁠reaching. Many of my friends and undoubtedly many strangers were unable to comprehend that I'd sent such an email to this bastion of prestige and privilege. Why was I not afraid of damaging my future prospects as a lawyer? Didn't I think this might hurt my chances with other universities?

For me, such questions paint a picture of a very cynical society. I do not want to study law because I want to be rich, or wear an uncomfortable wig and cloak. Perhaps optimistically, I want to study law because I am interested in justice.

To me, withdrawing my application to an institution that is a symbol of unfairness in both our education and the legal system (which is so dominated by Oxbridge graduates) makes perfect sense, and I am reluctant to be part of a system so heavily dominated by such a narrow group of self-⁠selecting elites.

So, why did I apply in the first place? If you're achieving high grades at A-⁠level (or equivalent), you can feel quite a lot of pressure to "prove yourself' by getting an Oxbridge offer. Coupled with the fact that I grew up on benefits in council estates throughout Bristol  — not a type of heritage often associated with an Oxbridge interview  — I decided to give it a try.

It was only at the interview that I started to question what exactly I was trying to prove. I was well aware that fantastic candidates are often turned down, and I did not believe that this was a true reflection of their academic potential.

Although I share concern that not going to Oxbridge gives you a "chip on your shoulder", I did not write to Oxford to avoid the risk of being labeled as an "Oxbridge reject": I already am one. Last year I made an (admittedly weak) application to Cambridge and was inevitably rejected post-⁠interview.

A year ago, I was in awe of the beautiful buildings of Oxbridge, but today I am in awe of the sheer number of people who, like me, have managed to not take it so seriously. Ultimately, I am not harming Oxford by laughing at it, and it is an amazing feeling to realize that so many people are enjoying my email. Actually, I was amazed to know how many people of different ages bothered to read it and even to leave their comments about it in Facebook. I had fun reading some of them, too.

A little over a month ago, I sent Oxford a rejection email that parodied the thousands that they send each year. Much to my surprise, it has become a bit of an Internet hit, and has provoked reactions of both horror and amusement.

In my letter I wrote: "I have now considered your establishment as a place to read Law (Jurisprudence). I very much regret to inform you that I will be withdrawing my application. I realize you may be disappointed by this decision, but you were in competition with many fantastic universities and following your interview, I am afraid you do not quite meet the standard of the universities I will be considering."

I sent the email after returning from my interview at Magdalen College, Oxford, to prove to a couple of my friends that Oxbridge did not need to be held in awe. One of them subsequently shared it on Facebook because he found it funny.

I certainly did not expect the email to spread as far as it has. Varying between offers of TV interviews and hundreds of enthusiastic Facebook messages, it has certainly been far-⁠reaching. Many of my friends and undoubtedly many strangers were unable to comprehend that I'd sent such an email to this bastion of prestige and privilege. Why was I not afraid of damaging my future prospects as a lawyer? Didn't I think this might hurt my chances with other universities?

For me, such questions paint a picture of a very cynical society. I do not want to study law because I want to be rich, or wear an uncomfortable wig and cloak. Perhaps optimistically, I want to study law because I am interested in justice.

To me, withdrawing my application to an institution that is a symbol of unfairness in both our education and the legal system (which is so dominated by Oxbridge graduates) makes perfect sense, and I am reluctant to be part of a system so heavily dominated by such a narrow group of self-⁠selecting elites.

So, why did I apply in the first place? If you're achieving high grades at A-⁠level (or equivalent), you can feel quite a lot of pressure to "prove yourself' by getting an Oxbridge offer. Coupled with the fact that I grew up on benefits in council estates throughout Bristol  — not a type of heritage often associated with an Oxbridge interview  — I decided to give it a try.

It was only at the interview that I started to question what exactly I was trying to prove. I was well aware that fantastic candidates are often turned down, and I did not believe that this was a true reflection of their academic potential.

Although I share concern that not going to Oxbridge gives you a "chip on your shoulder", I did not write to Oxford to avoid the risk of being labeled as an "Oxbridge reject": I already am one. Last year I made an (admittedly weak) application to Cambridge and was inevitably rejected post-⁠interview.

A year ago, I was in awe of the beautiful buildings of Oxbridge, but today I am in awe of the sheer number of people who, like me, have managed to not take it so seriously. Ultimately, I am not harming Oxford by laughing at it, and it is an amazing feeling to realize that so many people are enjoying my email. Actually, I was amazed to know how many people of different ages bothered to read it and even to leave their comments about it in Facebook. I had fun reading some of them, too.

A little over a month ago, I sent Oxford a rejection email that parodied the thousands that they send each year. Much to my surprise, it has become a bit of an Internet hit, and has provoked reactions of both horror and amusement.

In my letter I wrote: "I have now considered your establishment as a place to read Law (Jurisprudence). I very much regret to inform you that I will be withdrawing my application. I realize you may be disappointed by this decision, but you were in competition with many fantastic universities and following your interview, I am afraid you do not quite meet the standard of the universities I will be considering."

I sent the email after returning from my interview at Magdalen College, Oxford, to prove to a couple of my friends that Oxbridge did not need to be held in awe. One of them subsequently shared it on Facebook because he found it funny.

I certainly did not expect the email to spread as far as it has. Varying between offers of TV interviews and hundreds of enthusiastic Facebook messages, it has certainly been far-⁠reaching. Many of my friends and undoubtedly many strangers were unable to comprehend that I'd sent such an email to this bastion of prestige and privilege. Why was I not afraid of damaging my future prospects as a lawyer? Didn't I think this might hurt my chances with other universities?

For me, such questions paint a picture of a very cynical society. I do not want to study law because I want to be rich, or wear an uncomfortable wig and cloak. Perhaps optimistically, I want to study law because I am interested in justice.

To me, withdrawing my application to an institution that is a symbol of unfairness in both our education and the legal system (which is so dominated by Oxbridge graduates) makes perfect sense, and I am reluctant to be part of a system so heavily dominated by such a narrow group of self-⁠selecting elites.

So, why did I apply in the first place? If you're achieving high grades at A-⁠level (or equivalent), you can feel quite a lot of pressure to "prove yourself' by getting an Oxbridge offer. Coupled with the fact that I grew up on benefits in council estates throughout Bristol  — not a type of heritage often associated with an Oxbridge interview  — I decided to give it a try.

It was only at the interview that I started to question what exactly I was trying to prove. I was well aware that fantastic candidates are often turned down, and I did not believe that this was a true reflection of their academic potential.

Although I share concern that not going to Oxbridge gives you a "chip on your shoulder", I did not write to Oxford to avoid the risk of being labeled as an "Oxbridge reject": I already am one. Last year I made an (admittedly weak) application to Cambridge and was inevitably rejected post-⁠interview.

A year ago, I was in awe of the beautiful buildings of Oxbridge, but today I am in awe of the sheer number of people who, like me, have managed to not take it so seriously. Ultimately, I am not harming Oxford by laughing at it, and it is an amazing feeling to realize that so many people are enjoying my email. Actually, I was amazed to know how many people of different ages bothered to read it and even to leave their comments about it in Facebook. I had fun reading some of them, too.

A little over a month ago, I sent Oxford a rejection email that parodied the thousands that they send each year. Much to my surprise, it has become a bit of an Internet hit, and has provoked reactions of both horror and amusement.

In my letter I wrote: "I have now considered your establishment as a place to read Law (Jurisprudence). I very much regret to inform you that I will be withdrawing my application. I realize you may be disappointed by this decision, but you were in competition with many fantastic universities and following your interview, I am afraid you do not quite meet the standard of the universities I will be considering."

I sent the email after returning from my interview at Magdalen College, Oxford, to prove to a couple of my friends that Oxbridge did not need to be held in awe. One of them subsequently shared it on Facebook because he found it funny.

I certainly did not expect the email to spread as far as it has. Varying between offers of TV interviews and hundreds of enthusiastic Facebook messages, it has certainly been far-⁠reaching. Many of my friends and undoubtedly many strangers were unable to comprehend that I'd sent such an email to this bastion of prestige and privilege. Why was I not afraid of damaging my future prospects as a lawyer? Didn't I think this might hurt my chances with other universities?

For me, such questions paint a picture of a very cynical society. I do not want to study law because I want to be rich, or wear an uncomfortable wig and cloak. Perhaps optimistically, I want to study law because I am interested in justice.

To me, withdrawing my application to an institution that is a symbol of unfairness in both our education and the legal system (which is so dominated by Oxbridge graduates) makes perfect sense, and I am reluctant to be part of a system so heavily dominated by such a narrow group of self-⁠selecting elites.

So, why did I apply in the first place? If you're achieving high grades at A-⁠level (or equivalent), you can feel quite a lot of pressure to "prove yourself' by getting an Oxbridge offer. Coupled with the fact that I grew up on benefits in council estates throughout Bristol  — not a type of heritage often associated with an Oxbridge interview  — I decided to give it a try.

It was only at the interview that I started to question what exactly I was trying to prove. I was well aware that fantastic candidates are often turned down, and I did not believe that this was a true reflection of their academic potential.

Although I share concern that not going to Oxbridge gives you a "chip on your shoulder", I did not write to Oxford to avoid the risk of being labeled as an "Oxbridge reject": I already am one. Last year I made an (admittedly weak) application to Cambridge and was inevitably rejected post-⁠interview.

A year ago, I was in awe of the beautiful buildings of Oxbridge, but today I am in awe of the sheer number of people who, like me, have managed to not take it so seriously. Ultimately, I am not harming Oxford by laughing at it, and it is an amazing feeling to realize that so many people are enjoying my email. Actually, I was amazed to know how many people of different ages bothered to read it and even to leave their comments about it in Facebook. I had fun reading some of them, too.

A little over a month ago, I sent Oxford a rejection email that parodied the thousands that they send each year. Much to my surprise, it has become a bit of an Internet hit, and has provoked reactions of both horror and amusement.

In my letter I wrote: "I have now considered your establishment as a place to read Law (Jurisprudence). I very much regret to inform you that I will be withdrawing my application. I realize you may be disappointed by this decision, but you were in competition with many fantastic universities and following your interview, I am afraid you do not quite meet the standard of the universities I will be considering."

I sent the email after returning from my interview at Magdalen College, Oxford, to prove to a couple of my friends that Oxbridge did not need to be held in awe. One of them subsequently shared it on Facebook because he found it funny.

I certainly did not expect the email to spread as far as it has. Varying between offers of TV interviews and hundreds of enthusiastic Facebook messages, it has certainly been far-⁠reaching. Many of my friends and undoubtedly many strangers were unable to comprehend that I'd sent such an email to this bastion of prestige and privilege. Why was I not afraid of damaging my future prospects as a lawyer? Didn't I think this might hurt my chances with other universities?

For me, such questions paint a picture of a very cynical society. I do not want to study law because I want to be rich, or wear an uncomfortable wig and cloak. Perhaps optimistically, I want to study law because I am interested in justice.

To me, withdrawing my application to an institution that is a symbol of unfairness in both our education and the legal system (which is so dominated by Oxbridge graduates) makes perfect sense, and I am reluctant to be part of a system so heavily dominated by such a narrow group of self-⁠selecting elites.

So, why did I apply in the first place? If you're achieving high grades at A-⁠level (or equivalent), you can feel quite a lot of pressure to "prove yourself' by getting an Oxbridge offer. Coupled with the fact that I grew up on benefits in council estates throughout Bristol  — not a type of heritage often associated with an Oxbridge interview  — I decided to give it a try.

It was only at the interview that I started to question what exactly I was trying to prove. I was well aware that fantastic candidates are often turned down, and I did not believe that this was a true reflection of their academic potential.

Although I share concern that not going to Oxbridge gives you a "chip on your shoulder", I did not write to Oxford to avoid the risk of being labeled as an "Oxbridge reject": I already am one. Last year I made an (admittedly weak) application to Cambridge and was inevitably rejected post-⁠interview.

A year ago, I was in awe of the beautiful buildings of Oxbridge, but today I am in awe of the sheer number of people who, like me, have managed to not take it so seriously. Ultimately, I am not harming Oxford by laughing at it, and it is an amazing feeling to realize that so many people are enjoying my email. Actually, I was amazed to know how many people of different ages bothered to read it and even to leave their comments about it in Facebook. I had fun reading some of them, too.

A little over a month ago, I sent Oxford a rejection email that parodied the thousands that they send each year. Much to my surprise, it has become a bit of an Internet hit, and has provoked reactions of both horror and amusement.

In my letter I wrote: "I have now considered your establishment as a place to read Law (Jurisprudence). I very much regret to inform you that I will be withdrawing my application. I realize you may be disappointed by this decision, but you were in competition with many fantastic universities and following your interview, I am afraid you do not quite meet the standard of the universities I will be considering."

I sent the email after returning from my interview at Magdalen College, Oxford, to prove to a couple of my friends that Oxbridge did not need to be held in awe. One of them subsequently shared it on Facebook because he found it funny.

I certainly did not expect the email to spread as far as it has. Varying between offers of TV interviews and hundreds of enthusiastic Facebook messages, it has certainly been far-⁠reaching. Many of my friends and undoubtedly many strangers were unable to comprehend that I'd sent such an email to this bastion of prestige and privilege. Why was I not afraid of damaging my future prospects as a lawyer? Didn't I think this might hurt my chances with other universities?

For me, such questions paint a picture of a very cynical society. I do not want to study law because I want to be rich, or wear an uncomfortable wig and cloak. Perhaps optimistically, I want to study law because I am interested in justice.

To me, withdrawing my application to an institution that is a symbol of unfairness in both our education and the legal system (which is so dominated by Oxbridge graduates) makes perfect sense, and I am reluctant to be part of a system so heavily dominated by such a narrow group of self-⁠selecting elites.

So, why did I apply in the first place? If you're achieving high grades at A-⁠level (or equivalent), you can feel quite a lot of pressure to "prove yourself' by getting an Oxbridge offer. Coupled with the fact that I grew up on benefits in council estates throughout Bristol  — not a type of heritage often associated with an Oxbridge interview  — I decided to give it a try.

It was only at the interview that I started to question what exactly I was trying to prove. I was well aware that fantastic candidates are often turned down, and I did not believe that this was a true reflection of their academic potential.

Although I share concern that not going to Oxbridge gives you a "chip on your shoulder", I did not write to Oxford to avoid the risk of being labeled as an "Oxbridge reject": I already am one. Last year I made an (admittedly weak) application to Cambridge and was inevitably rejected post-⁠interview.

A year ago, I was in awe of the beautiful buildings of Oxbridge, but today I am in awe of the sheer number of people who, like me, have managed to not take it so seriously. Ultimately, I am not harming Oxford by laughing at it, and it is an amazing feeling to realize that so many people are enjoying my email. Actually, I was amazed to know how many people of different ages bothered to read it and even to leave their comments about it in Facebook. I had fun reading some of them, too.

A little over a month ago, I sent Oxford a rejection email that parodied the thousands that they send each year. Much to my surprise, it has become a bit of an Internet hit, and has provoked reactions of both horror and amusement.

In my letter I wrote: "I have now considered your establishment as a place to read Law (Jurisprudence). I very much regret to inform you that I will be withdrawing my application. I realize you may be disappointed by this decision, but you were in competition with many fantastic universities and following your interview, I am afraid you do not quite meet the standard of the universities I will be considering."

I sent the email after returning from my interview at Magdalen College, Oxford, to prove to a couple of my friends that Oxbridge did not need to be held in awe. One of them subsequently shared it on Facebook because he found it funny.

I certainly did not expect the email to spread as far as it has. Varying between offers of TV interviews and hundreds of enthusiastic Facebook messages, it has certainly been far-⁠reaching. Many of my friends and undoubtedly many strangers were unable to comprehend that I'd sent such an email to this bastion of prestige and privilege. Why was I not afraid of damaging my future prospects as a lawyer? Didn't I think this might hurt my chances with other universities?

For me, such questions paint a picture of a very cynical society. I do not want to study law because I want to be rich, or wear an uncomfortable wig and cloak. Perhaps optimistically, I want to study law because I am interested in justice.

To me, withdrawing my application to an institution that is a symbol of unfairness in both our education and the legal system (which is so dominated by Oxbridge graduates) makes perfect sense, and I am reluctant to be part of a system so heavily dominated by such a narrow group of self-⁠selecting elites.

So, why did I apply in the first place? If you're achieving high grades at A-⁠level (or equivalent), you can feel quite a lot of pressure to "prove yourself' by getting an Oxbridge offer. Coupled with the fact that I grew up on benefits in council estates throughout Bristol  — not a type of heritage often associated with an Oxbridge interview  — I decided to give it a try.

It was only at the interview that I started to question what exactly I was trying to prove. I was well aware that fantastic candidates are often turned down, and I did not believe that this was a true reflection of their academic potential.

Although I share concern that not going to Oxbridge gives you a "chip on your shoulder", I did not write to Oxford to avoid the risk of being labeled as an "Oxbridge reject": I already am one. Last year I made an (admittedly weak) application to Cambridge and was inevitably rejected post-⁠interview.

A year ago, I was in awe of the beautiful buildings of Oxbridge, but today I am in awe of the sheer number of people who, like me, have managed to not take it so seriously. Ultimately, I am not harming Oxford by laughing at it, and it is an amazing feeling to realize that so many people are enjoying my email. Actually, I was amazed to know how many people of different ages bothered to read it and even to leave their comments about it in Facebook. I had fun reading some of them, too.

It was Christmas Eve. Amy had never before felt such a powerful energy on such an 30 _______.

Standing in the living room of the ranch house, Amy 31 _______ where Paul Chadwick really lived, since it was apparent he did not live there. Paul and Anna had not put much of a mark on the apartment, Amy reflected. The apartment was handsome but impersonal. She knew that the places where he was supposed to live were too tidy, too sleek, they 32 _______ like hotel suites. He had an office in the Towers apartment and one here, and in those she could see some marks of the man; but she saw none in the living rooms, dining rooms and bedrooms.

The décor was resolutely Western, its furnishings assembled to 33 _______ the effect. Only one item said something. Above the huge smoke-⁠stained fieldstone fireplace here was a small photograph, a snapshot, actually, of a grim, solid man in his sixties. He wore a no-⁠nonsense expression, glaring disapprovingly at the world but not at the photographer. If you knew what you were looking 34 _______ in the picture, or used a magnifying glass, you could identify a bottle of bourbon on the desk. On a table at his side were two candlestick telephones. That was Paul Chadwick the First. Amy 35 _______ to John and his sister Emily and said, "Your father is not what I imagined he would be." Amy had seen pictures of Paul Chadwick, so his appearance was no surprise. What she had not seen in his newspaper and magazine pictures was that he was aggressive, beyond doubt, but 36 _______ that he was easily, naturally charismatic.

It was Christmas Eve. Amy had never before felt such a powerful energy on such an 30 _______.

Standing in the living room of the ranch house, Amy 31 _______ where Paul Chadwick really lived, since it was apparent he did not live there. Paul and Anna had not put much of a mark on the apartment, Amy reflected. The apartment was handsome but impersonal. She knew that the places where he was supposed to live were too tidy, too sleek, they 32 _______ like hotel suites. He had an office in the Towers apartment and one here, and in those she could see some marks of the man; but she saw none in the living rooms, dining rooms and bedrooms.

The décor was resolutely Western, its furnishings assembled to 33 _______ the effect. Only one item said something. Above the huge smoke-⁠stained fieldstone fireplace here was a small photograph, a snapshot, actually, of a grim, solid man in his sixties. He wore a no-⁠nonsense expression, glaring disapprovingly at the world but not at the photographer. If you knew what you were looking 34 _______ in the picture, or used a magnifying glass, you could identify a bottle of bourbon on the desk. On a table at his side were two candlestick telephones. That was Paul Chadwick the First. Amy 35 _______ to John and his sister Emily and said, "Your father is not what I imagined he would be." Amy had seen pictures of Paul Chadwick, so his appearance was no surprise. What she had not seen in his newspaper and magazine pictures was that he was aggressive, beyond doubt, but 36 _______ that he was easily, naturally charismatic.

It was Christmas Eve. Amy had never before felt such a powerful energy on such an 30 _______.

Standing in the living room of the ranch house, Amy 31 _______ where Paul Chadwick really lived, since it was apparent he did not live there. Paul and Anna had not put much of a mark on the apartment, Amy reflected. The apartment was handsome but impersonal. She knew that the places where he was supposed to live were too tidy, too sleek, they 32 _______ like hotel suites. He had an office in the Towers apartment and one here, and in those she could see some marks of the man; but she saw none in the living rooms, dining rooms and bedrooms.

The décor was resolutely Western, its furnishings assembled to 33 _______ the effect. Only one item said something. Above the huge smoke-⁠stained fieldstone fireplace here was a small photograph, a snapshot, actually, of a grim, solid man in his sixties. He wore a no-⁠nonsense expression, glaring disapprovingly at the world but not at the photographer. If you knew what you were looking 34 _______ in the picture, or used a magnifying glass, you could identify a bottle of bourbon on the desk. On a table at his side were two candlestick telephones. That was Paul Chadwick the First. Amy 35 _______ to John and his sister Emily and said, "Your father is not what I imagined he would be." Amy had seen pictures of Paul Chadwick, so his appearance was no surprise. What she had not seen in his newspaper and magazine pictures was that he was aggressive, beyond doubt, but 36 _______ that he was easily, naturally charismatic.

It was Christmas Eve. Amy had never before felt such a powerful energy on such an 30 _______.

Standing in the living room of the ranch house, Amy 31 _______ where Paul Chadwick really lived, since it was apparent he did not live there. Paul and Anna had not put much of a mark on the apartment, Amy reflected. The apartment was handsome but impersonal. She knew that the places where he was supposed to live were too tidy, too sleek, they 32 _______ like hotel suites. He had an office in the Towers apartment and one here, and in those she could see some marks of the man; but she saw none in the living rooms, dining rooms and bedrooms.

The décor was resolutely Western, its furnishings assembled to 33 _______ the effect. Only one item said something. Above the huge smoke-⁠stained fieldstone fireplace here was a small photograph, a snapshot, actually, of a grim, solid man in his sixties. He wore a no-⁠nonsense expression, glaring disapprovingly at the world but not at the photographer. If you knew what you were looking 34 _______ in the picture, or used a magnifying glass, you could identify a bottle of bourbon on the desk. On a table at his side were two candlestick telephones. That was Paul Chadwick the First. Amy 35 _______ to John and his sister Emily and said, "Your father is not what I imagined he would be." Amy had seen pictures of Paul Chadwick, so his appearance was no surprise. What she had not seen in his newspaper and magazine pictures was that he was aggressive, beyond doubt, but 36 _______ that he was easily, naturally charismatic.

It was Christmas Eve. Amy had never before felt such a powerful energy on such an 30 _______.

Standing in the living room of the ranch house, Amy 31 _______ where Paul Chadwick really lived, since it was apparent he did not live there. Paul and Anna had not put much of a mark on the apartment, Amy reflected. The apartment was handsome but impersonal. She knew that the places where he was supposed to live were too tidy, too sleek, they 32 _______ like hotel suites. He had an office in the Towers apartment and one here, and in those she could see some marks of the man; but she saw none in the living rooms, dining rooms and bedrooms.

The décor was resolutely Western, its furnishings assembled to 33 _______ the effect. Only one item said something. Above the huge smoke-⁠stained fieldstone fireplace here was a small photograph, a snapshot, actually, of a grim, solid man in his sixties. He wore a no-⁠nonsense expression, glaring disapprovingly at the world but not at the photographer. If you knew what you were looking 34 _______ in the picture, or used a magnifying glass, you could identify a bottle of bourbon on the desk. On a table at his side were two candlestick telephones. That was Paul Chadwick the First. Amy 35 _______ to John and his sister Emily and said, "Your father is not what I imagined he would be." Amy had seen pictures of Paul Chadwick, so his appearance was no surprise. What she had not seen in his newspaper and magazine pictures was that he was aggressive, beyond doubt, but 36 _______ that he was easily, naturally charismatic.

It was Christmas Eve. Amy had never before felt such a powerful energy on such an 30 _______.

Standing in the living room of the ranch house, Amy 31 _______ where Paul Chadwick really lived, since it was apparent he did not live there. Paul and Anna had not put much of a mark on the apartment, Amy reflected. The apartment was handsome but impersonal. She knew that the places where he was supposed to live were too tidy, too sleek, they 32 _______ like hotel suites. He had an office in the Towers apartment and one here, and in those she could see some marks of the man; but she saw none in the living rooms, dining rooms and bedrooms.

The décor was resolutely Western, its furnishings assembled to 33 _______ the effect. Only one item said something. Above the huge smoke-⁠stained fieldstone fireplace here was a small photograph, a snapshot, actually, of a grim, solid man in his sixties. He wore a no-⁠nonsense expression, glaring disapprovingly at the world but not at the photographer. If you knew what you were looking 34 _______ in the picture, or used a magnifying glass, you could identify a bottle of bourbon on the desk. On a table at his side were two candlestick telephones. That was Paul Chadwick the First. Amy 35 _______ to John and his sister Emily and said, "Your father is not what I imagined he would be." Amy had seen pictures of Paul Chadwick, so his appearance was no surprise. What she had not seen in his newspaper and magazine pictures was that he was aggressive, beyond doubt, but 36 _______ that he was easily, naturally charismatic.

It was Christmas Eve. Amy had never before felt such a powerful energy on such an 30 _______.

Standing in the living room of the ranch house, Amy 31 _______ where Paul Chadwick really lived, since it was apparent he did not live there. Paul and Anna had not put much of a mark on the apartment, Amy reflected. The apartment was handsome but impersonal. She knew that the places where he was supposed to live were too tidy, too sleek, they 32 _______ like hotel suites. He had an office in the Towers apartment and one here, and in those she could see some marks of the man; but she saw none in the living rooms, dining rooms and bedrooms.

The décor was resolutely Western, its furnishings assembled to 33 _______ the effect. Only one item said something. Above the huge smoke-⁠stained fieldstone fireplace here was a small photograph, a snapshot, actually, of a grim, solid man in his sixties. He wore a no-⁠nonsense expression, glaring disapprovingly at the world but not at the photographer. If you knew what you were looking 34 _______ in the picture, or used a magnifying glass, you could identify a bottle of bourbon on the desk. On a table at his side were two candlestick telephones. That was Paul Chadwick the First. Amy 35 _______ to John and his sister Emily and said, "Your father is not what I imagined he would be." Amy had seen pictures of Paul Chadwick, so his appearance was no surprise. What she had not seen in his newspaper and magazine pictures was that he was aggressive, beyond doubt, but 36 _______ that he was easily, naturally charismatic.