Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. She held out the foil. 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. She wanted to come, and I wouldn't let her. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese.
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