’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. ’ ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly. “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. It happened that at the extremest point of Ann Veronica’s social circle from the Widgetts was the family of the Morningside Park horsedealer, a company of extremely dressy and hilarious young women, with one equestrian brother addicted to fancy waistcoats, cigars, and facial spots. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. She decided to call in the help of Teddy Widgett, or, failing him, of one of his sisters. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. “Well, you know.
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