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 developed into a sort of secret and private bad manners. “Why not? It might amuse me. A fierce struggle ensued. ‘Merci,’ Melusine said, and smiled. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge.
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