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. "What I do is for the best, and I can only hope she may have strength to bear the separation. "Come along, Mrs. " "On my soul, Thames, you wrong me!" replied Jack, passionately. ‘You are an avid reader, I take it. John’s father piped up, bored with the conversation, and asked, “Where do you get your blue eyes, Lucy? What nationality are you?” “I’m mostly Italian, but I get my blue eyes from my mother, who was Gypsy.
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