Imagine him thinking of the pictures: I'm sure that doesn't sound wicked, and...

Oh, dear!....Yes, he did it again, then!...

He--he's making eyes at me as much as he dares!..." She turned and opened a drawer of the desk.
"I think I'll take the papers home and sort them there," she said.
"You're sure there's nothing more I can do ?" he asked, rising.
"Nothing more; thank you." "That window behind you is open at the top.

You may feel a draft; I'll shut it." In his voice she caught the note which a woman never misses, and her mind went back to her room at college where the girls used to gather in the evenings and hold classes which were strictly outside the regular course.
"It's simply pathetic," one of the girls had once remarked, "but nearly every man you meet makes love the same way.

Talk about sausage for breakfast every morning in the year.