And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time. ‘Very. He never seemed to take full advantage while they were in his mammoth automobile. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man. 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. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table.
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