" "Look here, my boy, that attitude is all damned nonsense. " The spinster did not ask if the mother lived; the question was inconsequent. ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection. 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. "It's Mrs. I am glad or sorry according as it has brought you happiness. But did any woman get anything better from a man? Perhaps every woman conceals herself from a man perforce!. Does it?” “I think it does. The attempt was unsuccessful. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. Mr.
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