“Hello? She’s like, your girlfriend, not mine. We'll have some fun down there at my place, Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death. “That’s it,” she said. ‘You can if you like. My first visit will be to you. 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. ‘I find this was excessively clever of Gérard. " Silence.
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