” “It wouldn’t be you either. 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. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. And I have made such arrangements that at my decease tardy justice will be done my injured nephew. " "Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock authority. ” “It’s too far for the ball to reach us,” said Miss Klegg. “I wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t. ” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. This lady was singularly lucky in her matrimonial connections. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. And see!" he added, as the figures drew back, and the lights disappeared; "it's a false alarm. " He then closed the lantern, mounted without much difficulty upon the roof, and proceeded cautiously along the tiles. “If you wish,” he said, “I will go there in the morning and see what can be done for him. He added succinctly, ‘Windows are open. " "I do love him," cried Blueskin, "and that's the long and short of it.
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