Hill closed his eyes. 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. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope. Then it dawned. You and the girl have made it soft for him, and I'm going to make it soft for him. Harrison Ainsworth Internationale Bibliothek G M B H Berlin 1922 "Upon my word, friend," said I, "you have almost made me long to try what a robber I should make. And it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned. ” “Just as you wish,” Mr.
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