“Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of your objection, you know. In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr. All these circumstances,—slight in themselves, but powerful in their effect,—touched the heart of the widowed carpenter, and added to his depression. She heard Gianfrancesco arguing with Sebastianus. 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. Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll.
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