I Do Not Want A Boy. I

She Bowed Her Head, Clasping Her Hands Tightly Before Her Upon The Arm Of His Chair, For Her Heart Yearned Towards Him, Yet Could Not Reach Him, And It Made Her Throat Ache With Unhappiness To Meet That Look Of His That Rested On Her Face Without Seeing It.

[...]my Memory Is Reasonably Good—unlike Yours, Dear Sir!” “mine Is Erratic,” He Said Imperturbably. “i Remember Only What Interests Me.

You Will Like Her," He Persisted. "egad, She's After Your Own Heart, Maman! She Shot Me In The Arm." "voyons, Do You Think That Is What I Like?

People Who Start A Sentence With Personally (and They're Always Women) Ought To Be Thrown To The Lions. It's A Repulsive Habit.

I Can't Imagine What Possessed You To Propose To Me." "well That Will Give You Something To Puzzle Over Any Time You Can't Sleep.