Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. “Thank you. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. Only I am not an acquaintance at all. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. Beyond that everything was nebulous. Abruptly the sterner look vanished and she twinkled.
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