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CH. VIII "Come right off to London and marry me. Now."

"What d'you mean?"

Kipps became extremely lucid and earnest.

"I mean come right off and marry me now before anyone else can. See?"

"In London?"

"In London."

They stared at one another again. They took things for granted in the most amazing way.

"I couldn't," said Ann. "For one thing my month's not up for mor'n free weeks yet."

They hung before that for a moment as though it was insurmountable.

"Look 'ere, Ann! Arst to go. Arst to go!"

"She wouldn't," said Ann.

"Then come without arsting," said Kipps.

"She's keep my box"

"She won't."

"She will."

"She won't."

"You don't know 'er."

"Well, desh 'er—let 'er! ! Who cares? I'll buy you a 'undred boxes if you'll come."

"It wouldn't be right towards Her."

"It isn't Her you got to think about, Ann. It's me."

"And you 'aven't treated me properly," she said. "You 'aven't treated me properly, Artie. You didn't ought to 'ave"

"I didn't say I 'ad," he interrupted, "did I, Ann?"