‘I’m on my third marriage. Who wants me?” bellowed the golfer.
He was a rotund, cheery American, with wads of money spilling out of his pockets and a dress sense as flamboyant as his manner. As his fellow US golfers and chums grinned, all of us 16-year-old caddies looked uncertainly at each other, and then stared at our feet. One of us would be nominated to carry his bag of clubs...
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