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. Heaven forbid. But at the word “home” she turned again. Martha said to me that it must come to the bibliothéque. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked.
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