Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. 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 drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. With all your cunning, we're more than a match for you. If you can imagine it, I survived it. He dared not go on.
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