” John traced his finger over the meeting point of her breast and her ribcage as they lay naked on his unmade bed. . 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 looked about for his hat, and put it on. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. He would pick a random member of the ever-shifting household for the sake of example. His smile faded. He did not leave much of an 17 impression. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. It stunned her.
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