’ ‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady. 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. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. \"I'm sorry, Larry. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages.
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