Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. 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. "Call as you please, beloved girl," he cried, "I will not stir till I am answered. You must—you shall be mine. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded.
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