‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. “To be an actress,” he said, “you require a special and peculiar temperament. 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. ‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully. Evidently Ah Cum's luck had held good. "You have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery.
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