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. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged. Lucy followed her. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. ” Annabel shivered a little and looked around her. "You will spare the officers a labour then," rejoined Jonathan.
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