They reached Wimbledon, and Ramage whipped out to hand Miss Stanley to the platform as though she had been a duchess, and she descended as though such attentions from middle-aged, but still gallant, merchants were a matter of course. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. “I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. Shari would know what to do, but Shari was out with her friend Lisa. Think of those days in Paris.
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