‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Was she a fool to wish a person of a disposition altogether not pleasing to marry her? Was it not true that he made a game with her very often? Had he not been extremely interfering from the beginning? And had he not kissed her, just when— Her thoughts skidded to a stop. I don’t think you and Mike are right for each other.
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