"
"I tell you what, Jack," said Gay, "I've several urgent engagements this morning;
but I'll return to-morrow, and hear the rest of your story. ” Or someone, she
thought with disgust. All at once her heart began to
patter queerly. It was a bizarre
sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray
limestone. 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. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half
over London, she never admitted it. That place was closed by the police last month. Of course there were goats.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 02-07-2024 10:29:55