She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. " There was a pause. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. And look down, so. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules. ” She stopped, and then suggested: “I wonder—I should love—if it was anything I said. ” She dropped back into a crouching attitude and began to weep. 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.
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