He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange. That boy," he added, looking at Thames, "has his eye upon us. " "Knock him on the head," thundered Sir Cecil, "or we shall have the watch upon us. "That gown is getting shabby. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. 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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