no, thank you

I knew just the time to come in for nursery tea, I knew just how to sit at table, I knew that when I was offered the third piece of cake I must say, “No, thank you,” even though I wanted it. I didn’t know everything though. For instance, once at nursery tea Mrs. Montgomery was in and I was offered the third piece of cake, and I said, “No, thank you, I’m full.” Now that evening I was having my nightly bath and Mrs. Montgomery came into the bathroom and said, “Irene, during nursery tea today you remember saying ‘No, thank you, I’m full?’ ” and I said, “Yes, Mrs. Montgomery.” “Well, Irene, you mustn’t say that again. In future you must say, “No, thank you. I’m quite satisfied’ Do you understand?”

1962, Brian Jackson, Dennis Marsden, Education and the Working Class, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, page 121

I was left to play my part, grudgingly, in the eternal jugalbandi of tourist life: ‘Boat, sir?’ ‘No, thank you.’ ‘Rickshaw, sir?’ ‘No, thank you.’

2009, Geoff Dyer, Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi, Canongate, published 2015, page 226

As the smell of toasting Borodinski bread wafts through the apartment, Bill goes through other frozen foods—all Costco, stuffed this-and-that. No, thank you.

2018, Paul Goldberg, “ISIS”, in The Château, New York, N.Y.: Picador, →ISBN, page 212