II
After an interlude, Ginger¹ demanded:
“Are you quite sure you don’t want to marry that Hermia creature?”
“Good lord!” I said. “I quite forgot.”
I took a letter from my pocket.
“This came three days ago, asking me if I’d come to the Old Vic with herto see Love’s Labour’s Lost.”
Ginger took the letter out of my hand and tore it up.
“If you want to go to the Old Vic in future,” she said firmly, “you’ll gowith me.”

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