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Chapter 1
ANTHONY PATCH
In 1913, when Anthony Patch was twenty-five, two years were already
gone since irony, the Holy Ghost of this later day, had, theoretically at
least, descended upon him. Irony was the final polish of the shoe, the ultimate
dab of the clothes-brush, a sort of intellectual "There!"—yet at the
brink of this story he has as yet gone no further than the conscious stage.
ANTHONY PATCH
In 1913, when Anthony Patch was twenty-five, two years were already
gone since irony, the Holy Ghost of this later day, had, theoretically at
least, descended upon him. Irony was the final polish of the shoe, the ultimate
dab of the clothes-brush, a sort of intellectual "There!"—yet at the
brink of this story he has as yet gone no further than the conscious stage.
