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. "Ali Baba, in a blue-serge coat!… God-forsaken fool!" CHAPTER XIII One day Ruth caught the patient's eyes following her about; but there was no question in the gaze, no interest; so she pretended not to notice. '" "No, we can't stand that," hiccupped Smith, scarcely able to keep his legs. They both listened intently. ” She grinned. ’ ‘I’m afraid you are right. Before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by Jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard.
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