They tried to read illustrated papers in an unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the leaping exultation in each other’s eyes. Turning to Melusine, he grabbed both her wrists and held her away from him, as if afraid that she might go for him. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. "Silence!" returned Jackson, in a deep whisper; "and don't muddle your brains with any more of that Pharaoh. There's something human about you now. 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.
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