The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. 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. Kneebone.
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