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. " "But Wild still lives," cried Wood. ’ ‘I do not lie to you now,’ she said, near frantic at the thought of losing him. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away.
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