A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. At least until we graduate. 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. The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way.
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This video was uploaded to adiszena.com on 22-09-2024 10:02:03
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