"When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. "Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. Before he could make the thrust, however, he was seized behind by Ireton, who flung himself upon him. But I don’t suppose you can understand. 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. "Shall I fetch it for you, Sir?" "By all means.
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