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I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. 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. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. “After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. She must get to the vestry.
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