" "For every hurt she has, I shall have two. 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. . “You need a reason. ” He stood looking at the preparations before them with an unusual preoccupation of manner, then roused himself to take her jacket, a little awkwardly, and hand it to the waiter who hung it in the corner of the room. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. ” She rested the firing end of the cannon against her own temple. Nothing would induce me to marry you, or any man at present. "I will," answered the prisoner. Lucia liked the doctor though, and he seemed to be very fond of her too.
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