ABSTRACT
‘I’ll marry you, Wuffie,’ said Mouse, three days later as she walked along a secluded alley of the Casino gardens, whilst the sun sparkled on marble balustrades and glossy orange leaves. ‘No; pray spare me those ecstasies, and for goodness sake don’t use German endearments; it sets my nerves on edge. Listen; there is a condition; perhaps you’ll set your back up at it, and if you do I shall marry somebody else. IIn’y a que l’embarras du choix.’ 630
