She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. 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. Well, I shall be sorry to lose him, Mr.
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