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I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. What’s your name?” He asked in return. 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. ” “Thank you. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search. ” “Perhaps you don’t. The dress was her mother's, and she was wearing it to save a little extra money.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-09-2024 12:30:53