The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. On weighing the matter over, he grew so uneasy that he resolved to descend, and inform him of his misgivings. He was in a curious state of desperation. The face of the man who lay there was clearly visible. “He wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed.
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