He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. We had better have it over. And now she comprehended that the man (she had never known him by any name) knew she had surprised the look and had not resented it. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. "You'd better surrender quietly, Jack," he cried; "you've no chance.
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