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 will have your true reason. ” “I am Mrs. “I have heard these things from you before, and you have had my answer. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark.
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