CHAPTER XIV. ’ ‘She behaved like a madwoman,’ Hilary declared roundly. ‘No one would credit that you are three years older than I. She advanced, stabbing at him. I'm in a funk," Spurlock confessed. 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. All our fraternity are afraid of him; but I laugh at his threats. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping.
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