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. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. Mr. I tried. Without hindrance—present occupation. ‘He was very kind to me. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. .
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