As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. 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. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. I think we will soon, though. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. You’d think with as much dick as she gets that she’d cheer up. A pretty piece.
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