She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. " "Oh. A curious silence ensued. And it's uncanny. 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. They were really very fine and abundant, with a blaze of perennial sunflowers behind them.
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