“But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. Manning relinquished his cup, and looked meaningly at Ann Veronica. The Widow and her Child II. 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. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain.
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