“Oh, Thomas, you can’t!” I began—but I didn’t want Neil to call me Great-Aunt Cassandra so I finished up: “Well, I suppose you have.” And I certainly would have fainted with despair if Thomas had refused the ham. In the end, I undertook to bring it home because he couldn’t manage it on his bicycle. “But swear you won’t go all ladylike and leave it behind,” he whispered. I swore.
