What he intended to do with it is of little consequence now. 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. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. ’ ‘Lucilla,’ gasped Hilary, his cheeks reddening with wrath. We mustn’t make it so.
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