"Francis Whiting III, 76, was the last of a dying breed: a true gentleman. The light of chivalry may yet be extinguished from the face of the earth, he lamented, but it would not disappear before he did. He rehearsed this thought, or some variation thereof, dozens of times each day: when, for example, he held the door for a woman slightly too far away for it to be strictly necessary, and when he stood as a woman approached his table, and when he assigned the most challenging cases at his firm to men, and when he noticed a woman at the office looking tired, and told her so, and urged her to get more rest. It was no simple matter, being chivalrous. Nevertheless, he was a man of principle, and persisted."
The realness. Like, it's the kind of humor that gets incredibly serious
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