" "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. \"Nice to meet you. Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. Pretend to weep both of you as loudly as you can. ‘Here she is. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me. “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady.
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