F. ” “No, I wanted to talk to you, Lucy, to invite you to a dinner party. "Women ought never to show themselves on these occasions, unless they can behave themselves properly. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. 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. “Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried.
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