When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. Taking up a link, which was blazing beside him, he walked across the room; and touching a spring in the wall, a secret door flew open. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. Then they would leave and she would go back to being alone. 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.
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