Yeah, I’m thirty-seven. “Okay. Another car followed, a rusty Cadillac sedan full of kids. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. You yourself supplied the details. Mac, she's the honestest human being I ever saw or heard of; and at the same time she is velvet over steel. Then he threw the letter at me. I went at last when I had barely a shilling in my purse to a dramatic agent. But, be like a son to her. She had never heard anything so unholy. “The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her.
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