An Englishman, Trevor C. Wignall, has written the story* of boxing from the days when fight training consisted of "three doses of salts, three sweats, three vomits, for three weeks, with food three-parts dressed," to the elaborate training camps of today. Strangely enough, the book is written with the sanity, the interest and the respectability of diction that is supposed to belong to literature.
This is what Mr. Wignall has to say of the institution of which he writes the life history: "there have been few epoch-making changes in the two hundred odd years...
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