God Knows I'm No Saint,

Do You Recall Fred Merriville?” She Stared At Him. “fred Merriville? Pray, What Has He To Say To Anything?” “the Poor Fellow Has Nothing To Say: He’s Dead, Alas!

Perhaps,” Murmured His Lordship, “i Yielded To A Compassionate Impulse.” “a What?” Gasped His Best Friend. “oh, Did You Think I Never Did So?” Said His Lordship, The Satirical Glint In His Eyes Extremely Pronounced. “you Wrong Me! I Do, Sometimes—not Frequently, Of Course, But Every Now And Then!

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

Let Me Tell You, My Girl, That I'm Swallowing No More Of Your Insults! And If I Hear Another Word From You In Disparagement Of The Corinthian Set It Will Be Very Much The Worse For You!

The More Enchanted The Idyll, Greater Must Be The Pain Of Its Ending.