The Way of All Flesh. Never heard of it. Gibbon. Hullo! dear
George reads German. Um--um--Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, and so we
go on. Well, I suppose your generation knows its own business,
Honeychurch."
"Mr. Beebe, look at that," said Freddy in awestruck tones.
On the cornice of the wardrobe, the hand of an amateur had
painted this inscription: "Mistrust all enterprises that require
new clothes."
"I know. Isn't it jolly? I like that. I'm certain that's the old
man's doing."
"How very odd of him!"
"Surely you agree?"
But Freddy was his mother's son and felt that one ought not to go
on spoiling the furniture.
"Pictures!" the clergyman continued, scrambling about the room.
"Giotto--they got that at Florence, I'll be bound."
"The same as Lucy's got."
"Oh, by-the-by, did Miss Honeychurch enjoy London?"
"She came back yesterday."
"I suppose she had a good time?"
"Yes, very," said Freddy, taking up a book. "She and Cecil are
thicker than ever."
"That's good hearing.
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