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 sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. One little minute with soap and water, voilà tout.
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