Juan Gris Man in the Cafe painting

Juan Gris Man in the Cafe paintingJuan Gris Breakfast paintingGeorge Bellows Stag at Sharkey's painting
Oh, where’s that?”
“It’s a little place in Soho not many people know about. My aunt speaks Italian like a native so she knows all those places. Of course, there’s no marble or . It just exists for the . Literary people and artists go there. My aunt knows lots of them.”
“My brother says all the men from Sandhurst go to the Berkeley. Of course, they fairly rook you.”
“I always think the Berkeley’s rather rowdy,” said Wheatley. “We stayed at Claridges after we came back from Scotland because our flat was still being done up.”
“My brother says Claridges is a deadly hole.”
“Of course, it isn’t everyone’s taste. It’s rather exclusive.”
“Then how did our buxom Wheatley come to be staying there, I wonder?”
“There’s no need to be cheap, Tamplin.”
“I always say,” suddenly said a boy named Jorkins, “that you get the best meal in London at the Holborn Grill.”
Charles, Tamplin and Wheatley turned with cold curiosity on the interrupter, united at last in their disdain. “Do you, Jorkins? How very original of you.”
“Do you always say that, Jorkins? Don’t you sometimes get tired of always saying the same thing?”