Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. I myself have had the pleasure of dining with her. Practically. It’s a sort of guarantee of confidence. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return.
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