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"Do you know," she said, "I've a good mind to tell you what I think of you?" He caught her hand. "Do, Nance! And make it nice. It's going to be no end of a grind to leave you. Say something pretty that I can live on 'til Christmas. Tell me I'm the sweetest fellow that ever lived. Go on. Make love to me, Nance!" "I think you are a short-sport!" she burst forth.
"I'm not going," said Nance, shortly. "Don't be a short-sport, Nance," urged Birdie, peevishly. "It's as good as morning now. We can loaf around Monte's for a couple of hours and then go over to my room and change our clothes in time to get to the station by seven. Less time we have to answer questions, better it'll be for us." "I tell you I ain't going!" protested Nance, hotly.
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