Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. 9. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. Was it VERY horrible? I tried to get into the police-court, but the crowd was ever so much too big, push as I would. 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. Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall. I tried it myself, Sir. So let me assure you now that we are not accusing you of a crime. ” He said.
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