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. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. "By the avenger of his family's dishonour—by your brother," he replied, coolly. " "I have heard sailors use words like that, but I never knew what they meant.
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