"I have some difficulty in preventing myself from becoming your executioner. He and his friends (he had at least two per class, even in Trigonometry) would make their exits as quickly as possible. “My wife. 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.
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