’ ‘But she must have known I’d longed to hear of you. But I’m generously ignorant of gems. Even Ah Cum had resumed his Oriental shell of reserve. So he goes out with girls from his group instead of me. 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. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. He had this thing for his twin daughters.
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