Easily. 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. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. Charvill does not believe the general will accept them. G. ” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave. In the midst of this light stood a young woman. Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her.
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