The boy was bright and inquisitive as he was subtle. 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. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. There was little fighting spirit here. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot.
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