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. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. Ann Veronica decided she would have to go on with Capes another day, and, looking up, discovered him sitting on a stool with his hands in his pockets and his head a little on one side, regarding her with a thoughtful expression. He began munching his water-chestnuts—a small brown radish-shaped vegetable, with the flavour of coconut—that grow along the river brims. “How so?” “I should have shared these things with you earlier, my sweet heart. They will insist upon a catalogue of things one must not do, which does nothing but fill one with the greatest desire to do them. That’s my advice. Laugh on the wrong side of your mouth, now.
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