D.H. Lawrence

I’m not sure one shouldn’t have one’s fling till one is twenty-six, and then give in, and marry!’
This was Lucille’s philosophy, learned from older women. Yvette was twenty-one. It meant she had five more years in which to have this precious fling. And the fling meant, at the moment, the gipsy. The marriage, at the age of twenty-six, meant Leo or Gerry.
So, a woman could eat her cake and have her bread and butter.