[…] whyle they thee courters outwarde gayly go

He was getting on well, so I understood, and had secured a fairly substantial position, and I had therefore ventured to ask him point-blank for the loan of fifty pounds.

Carole was gracious. “You don’t do so badly. They tell me Mick Kelly’s throwing too-ra-loo-ras in your direction.” “Mick’s swell,” Betsy agreed. “I like him a lot. He’s got ideas.” “Well, don’t let him get away with them.” Carol’s eyebrows arched.

Turn a deaf ear to her flattery and tears. Above all, do not argue with her the justice of your case; do not give her a chance to argue. Burn her letters and her pictures; avoid reminiscential scenes.