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. His arms released from his 68 sides, he lifted them around her in a light embrace. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. The continuity was frequently broken in upon by diversory suppositions. It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing.
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