Mr. She wasn’t well-liked really, I think people were jealous of her. 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. Shari’s eyes widened, “You mean it?” “I’m all yours, head to toe. Ah! but you can’t imagine what you are to me and what you mean to me! I suppose there is something mystical and wonderful about all women. "But I like Bobby Burns best.
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