I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it.
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