Sydney Courtlaw—Mr. "Yes; but what is good isn't always proper. Now, you know where he is bound. ” He leaned back for his soup. Even the basest objects sold in the 24 roadside shops were beautiful in some way. In spite of the tumultuous joy which agitated him, the bridegroom could not prevent the intrusion of some saddening thoughts, as he reflected upon the melancholy scene which he had so recently witnessed in the same place. 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.
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