Father Conmee walked and, walking, smiled for he thought on Father Bernard Vaughan’s droll eyes and cockney voice.
Miss Douce, bending over the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes.
For answer Mr Mulligan, in a gale of laughter at his smalls, smote himself bravely below the diaphragm, exclaiming with an admirable droll mimic of Mother Grogan (the most excellent creature of her sex though ’tis pity she’s a trollop): There’s a belly that never bore a bastard.
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I appreciate her droll sense of humor.
I can usually count on a droll tweet a week from her.