I awaken easily. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. . “No. "Is it wrong, then, to surrender to good impulses?" "In the present instance, yes. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. 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.
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