The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. 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. " The doctor was forced to admit the truth of this. I did all for the best, I'm sure. She knew his appetite from many a homemade dinner and knew also that he had taken Bitch Vorsack’s comments to heart.
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