"Yes," he said, "'tis kind of hard to say that to a girl.

Don't wonder she's a little mad.

And yet, that's the kindest thing I can do.
Even in Scripter there was the sheep and the goats; the goats couldn't sing, and the sheep could; they had to be separated." He went on testing voices and sending the "goats" home.

Some of the "goats," however, lingered round outside, made remarks and peeped in at the windows.

In an hour their number had grown to eighteen or twenty.
Dreading the ordeal, I slunk into a back seat.