Once before—but that had been different. ’ ‘Yes, but I’m afraid I am far too interested to stop mixing myself in your affairs,’ Gerald said ruefully. “Take Jacomo for a lover, Lucia. 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 have gone without dinner for three nights, and—come in. Having heard from Thames that you were better, and that your sole anxiety was about me, I came to give you the first intelligence of my escape.
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