II
If I were to write down all the surging thoughts that
filled my brain this would have to be a Novel instead of a Short
Story. And I am not one who beleives in beginning the life of
Letters with a long work. I think one should start with breif
Romanse. For is not Romanse itself but breif, the thing of an
hour, at least to the Other Sex?
Women and girls, having no interest outside their hearts,
such as baseball and hockey and earning saleries, are more
likely to hug Romanse to their breasts, until it is finaly
drowned in their tears.
I pass over the next few days, therfore, mearly stating
that my _affaire de couer_ went on rapidly, and that Leila was
sulkey _and had no Male visitors_. On the day after the Ball
Game Tom took me for a walk, and in a corner of the park, he
took my hand and held it for quite a while. He said he had never
been a hand-holder, but he guessed it was time to begin. Also he
remarked that my noze need not worry me, as it exactly suited my
face and nature.
"How does it suit my nature?" I asked.
"It's--well, it's cute.
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