Besides, she had admitted her identity. Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. \"Borrowed a pencil. All right really. But nobody drinks on my island unless I offer it, which is seldom. But she was staring seaward and did not notice the offering. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. Here I am. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously.
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