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. ” “But Hainault—was—a pal. " And he strode out of the place. ” The man hesitated. Never in this world! Let the hotel people take care of him; it's their affair.
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