I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. She said that she couldn’t stand Mike. “I am afraid your broken dinner engagement will not be so easy to explain. But seriously ——” “Well seriously?” “Isn’t it your own fault a little? Why do you not tell me your address, and allow me to call upon you. It’s a thing that’s happened to you. “I thought we had discussed that, father. He believed me when I asked him to marry me. ” “Two years ago,” she answered.
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