CHAPTER XXIV. 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. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. . Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. C below. How am I supposed to rent an apartment when I cannot legally buy cigarettes? I couldn’t use you. ‘If you imagine you’re going to use one ungentlemanly act to manipulate me, you very much mistake the matter. ” This made her even angrier, so she stopped speaking to him for a week. We'll have him yet. " "You are interested?" "In a way, naturally. “Our ways happened to lie together.
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