” John’s father, Thomas, strode into the front hall at that moment in his golf clothes. He has a very summary mode of dealing with refractory persons, I assure you. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. 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. Her mouth was an effective tourniquet. ’ ‘How do you do?’ Gerald said pleasantly, stepping from the pillared portico and coming down the shallow stairway.
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