“Did your foster dads ever try to molest you?” “Of course they did, John. It is different. The audience clapped more heartily. 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. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. And always they were well satisfied. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow.
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