. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. She hastened past. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. 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. He's as nice and civil-spoken a gentleman as need be; by the same token," she added, in an under tone, "that he gave me a span new crown piece. To the duckling, peas, and other delicacies, intended for Mr.
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