Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. 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. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. I will never wed you. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. “The man is dangerous.
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