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. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door. "My demeanour ought to convince you that I came with no hostile intention. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. I want to talk to you, and I must return tomorrow. This is my first venture over here. It was enough. Constantly sick with the croup or diaper rash. I never yet heard of a Christians as was named after the Shannon or the Liffy; and the Thames is no better than a dhurty puddle, compared wi' them two noble strames.
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