The evening passed pleasantly enough, and I found Harley's heroine to
be all that he had told me and a great deal more besides. In fact,
so greatly did I enjoy her society that I intentionally prolonged the
evening to about three times its normal length--which was a very
inartistic bit of exaggeration, I admit; but then I don't pretend to
be a realist, and when I sit down to write I can make my evenings as
long or as short as I choose. I will say, however, that, long as my
evening was, I made it go through its whole length without having
recourse to such copy-making subterfuges as the description of
doorknobs and chairs; and except for its unholy length, it was not at
all lacking in realism. Miss Andrews fascinated me and seemed to
find me rather good company, and I found myself suggesting that as
the next day was Sunday she take me for a walk. From what I knew of
Harley's experience with her, I judged she'd be more likely to go if
I asked her to take me instead of offering to take her. It was a
subtle distinction, but with some women subtle distinctions are
chasms which men must not try to overleap too vaingloriously, lest
disaster overtake them.
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