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. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him.
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