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. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. In rushed Mr. “I’ve never been prone to them. “I cannot conceive,” he said, “how any other occupation could ever have occurred to you. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. It would not have interested him in the least to learn that the tub ran on two powers—wind and oil. Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess. He refused. ’ ‘Lord, man, it’s only a scratch!’ Suddenly Gerald snapped his fingers. He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch. ‘Alors, you make a game with me, I see that. Besides, this is an affair which no one but myself can settle.
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