They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle. I will permit you to rescue me. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. “I WILL be arrested! I WON’T go home!” the little old lady was screaming over and over again. Like appendicitis.
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