What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruth had not the least conception, no more than a child. 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. ‘And I do understand. Kneebone's special consumption, she added a few impromptu dishes, tossed off in her best style; such as lamb chops, broiled kidneys, fried ham and eggs, and toasted cheese. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. “Really,” she said. " "Afraid?" "Yes. I can't invent; the thing won't come. "I never went to school. ” He did not agree with that.
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