‘I suppose I need not ask to which other soldier you refer. 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. You did not learn that in a convent. After class his routine was unchanged. . He meditated, and began a new paragraph. ’ ‘Oh, don’t you?’ Gerald said grimly.
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