You'd know if you were _not_ in love.

Now, my dear sir, you may lay your case confidently before me." Harren, unconvinced, sat frowning and biting his lip and twisting his short, crisp mustache which the tropical sun had turned straw color and curly.
"I feel like a fool to tell you," he said.

"I'm not an imaginative man, Mr.Keen; I'm not fanciful, not sentimental.

I'm perfectly healthy, perfectly normal--a very busy man in my profession, with no time and no inclination to fall in love." "Just the sort of man who does it," commented Keen.

"Continue." Harren fidgeted about in his chair, looked out of the window, squinted at the ceiling, then straightened up, folding his arms with sudden determination.
"I'd rather be boloed than tell you," he said.