He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. A married man!—the kind I've never been able to lure down there! But keep your temper in check.
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