My death, probably. Like a petulant child he snapped. 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. . You can scribble if you want to, but after you've given your eight hours daily to the mills.
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