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When she saw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, her expression changed as though by magic. Obviously he is still interested. ’ Then she jammed her hat on her head all anyhow and ran from the room. I was curious about that. Vee’s all right. 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. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden. She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. " "How do you spell the last name?" He spelt it. " "I wish I could, Joan," returned the carpenter, sadly.
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