‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe. Blueskin, you are a true friend. 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. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband.
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