Why the sight of your red ribands would send them mad, as it's nearly sent me." "I don't care.

I'd rather be with them than with you.

I hate you," she screamed with tears in her voice.
"Really?
I'll warrant your hate'll turn to love before we part," he jeered.

"I'm not going to see you come to harm, so I shall hold your pretty wrists tightly.

How round and slender they are! So, you're my prisoner." "I'm not and I won't be." Somehow she dragged her right wrist away and dealt him a smart blow on his cheek.
"You would fight, would you?
What a little spitfire it is! No matter.