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. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. You saw him? You have been to Remenham House?’ ‘Remenham House? I wish I’d been only to Remenham House. " So saying, he scrambled over the rubbish, and got into the chimney. “Your teeth are chattering! I’ll make you some hot chocolate!” Cathy cried. Ennison started and looked anxiously at Anna. "Your master wants a few table-spoons, child," said Mrs.
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