I have said that I am but a nun now. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. “How will you live?” she appealed. “Of course I will,” he answered. “A man can manage without hair; A man scores always, everywhere. Somehow logic could not explain her.
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