But I've an old friend on the way here, and he knows the game down there. “Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. “It is hard to express one’s self, but I do want to be honest with you. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. I——” The door was thrown open. An entire forest’s array of meats was served in courses brought out to the table. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. 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. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. She got up and unlocked the door. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. .
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This video was uploaded to ccc999.shop on 31-05-2024 08:02:10
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