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. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter. ” He stared at a little eddy. ‘He isn’t Valade, and the Comtesse de St Erme is absolutely furious. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines.
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