“I don’t care a damn,” he said, “about her wickedness.”
Had I been stronger, I should have leapt to my feet.
“You don’t care a what?” I asked.
“A damn,” he said.
“A damn?” I cried.
“Yes, a damn,” he repeated.
I leaned back, closing my eyes.
“Yes, and I’ve said worse things.”
I opened them again.
“I’ve said bally and hell and blow.”