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. ” “Why not?” she asked quietly. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom.
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