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 was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master," rejoined Sheppard. “I’ve been looking out for you,” he said. Those are all nice things, but it’s not what I want. It’s artificially chance. ‘All right, Trodger. It has been only the sort of nonsense which passes lightly enough between half the men and women in London.
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