He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. “Please come home. "The Dutchman was right, after all. I’m sorry to hurt your feelings. Give me this picture. ” He beamed upon her.
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