” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. 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. “My Mom makes more money than my Dad, a lot more. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day. He was a philosopher.
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