How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. 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.
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