"Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. You must have repented a little, or you would not have done that. Cathy answered the phone. It is Thérèse. Every movable mirror had been placed here, to discourage vanity, and since no whitewash covered the brocaded purple wallpaper, its pervasive hue gave an added sense of heaviness to the crowded chamber. Someone, it appeared, was trying to profit from that fact. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. 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. The bedding was removed; Mrs.
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