" "Do not doubt me," replied Thames, warmly pressing his hand. 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. Don't be alarmed by their manners, Mr. As he pocketed it, her open palm reached out and slapped his cheek. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. She wished she had not stood up.
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