Henri Cochet plays tennis as though the game were an argument couched in a difficult idiom which he alone had mastered. His placements have the brilliance, the finality of condescending epigrams. With such epigrams he might perhaps have punctured the crude bombast of Wilmer Allison's speedy serve last week, had he not flown over to Paris for Rene Lacoste's wedding to the French golf champion, Mile Simone Thion de la Chaume. When he returned to the centre court at Wimbledon, Cochet argued like a tired attorney. He won the first two games,...
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