Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. If not, I'll convey him to St. " Ruth's eyes began to glow. " "No doubt," rejoined Wild, with a sneer; "but don't let all the world know it. “The ones Cariolus did for me. “For instance?” She smiled.
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