“The Widgetts,” she said. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. Immediately after it, he was off again, and that, let me tell you, was the last anyone saw of him. It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing.
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