It was she—— Anna’s nerves were not easily shaken, but she found herself suddenly clutching at the table for support. 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. Mr. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. 1. It was evident the lady’s servant knew his mistress, for he had come equipped with a tray upon which reposed a decanter and two glasses. . In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy.
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