Teddy was the hatless young man who had turned Ann Veronica aside from the Avenue two days before. He came to her at once, and turning, walked by her side. 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. You were dying and your baby along with you. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional.
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