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. Winny, show the person into this room. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. Suddenly, such a shout as has seldom smitten human ears rent the air. “A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered
the room. A hansom
stopped a little way off. She had decided that she would spend the next morning
answering advertisements in the papers that abounded in the writing-room; and
so, after half an hour’s perusal of back numbers of the Sketch in the drawingroom, she had gone to bed.
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This video was uploaded to kooplokaalmontferland.info on 04-07-2024 20:01:24