All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. ” “It is ironic that you say that, John, for it is I who am afraid of you. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. “Why?” he asked, suavely. “Sometimes it is not bad. Yes, of course. “Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. A nine days’ wonder is soon forgotten. Let me go my own way towards them. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. We leave this room together.
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