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 reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. So Ruth found that for a while her eyes were free.
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