“One genius in the family is enough. " "'Sblood!" cried Jackson, rising, "I can't sit still and hear Mr. 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. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him.
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