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. He knew it absolutely, as if he had the check in his hand. You must tell me what it all means. I'm crazy over music, too. Hang the wench! Roding was right. I am suspected of having shot the man. I think too much about myself.
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