I’m not that sort I quite agree. The first was to break a dinner engagement. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. He had reacted by laughing at her, informing her coolly that she was naïve in many things. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded.
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