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“This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. 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 else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-09-2024 17:38:50