He pumped as she raised her legs obediently. 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. I overheard what Mr. Neither the manners, the looks, nor the attire of these gentlemen prepossessed Mrs. ‘You do not say, “I am a gentleman born.
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