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. “Hand me the Jergens lotion, will you? How’d it go with John?” She asked. \"Do you mind if I sit with you?\" He asked as he followed her. As it is, I'm not sorry for the blunder. ’ The fury welled. Altogether, it was a hideous and revolting sight. Gerald lifted an eyebrow. " "Do not speak of it," rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. But he had now lost the precise spot; and thinking he had examined the drain, turned his attention to another quarter. \"Where would you like to go?\" \"Burger King okay?\" \"Are you sure you don't want to go to some place fancier?\" He was surprised.
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