"That wouldn't be difficult."
"You think so?"
"I'm sure of it."
Mavis spoke lightly, but Harold's voice was eloquent of conviction.
"I'm sure of it," he repeated, as if to himself.
"Am I so perfect?" she asked, as her eyes sought the ground.
"In my eyes. But, then, I'm different from other men."
"You are."
"You needn't remind me of it."
"Isn't it nice to be different from others?"