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. I—well, I lost my temper. Don’t imagine that. There's another lad at the gate waiting for him—the same who was here just now, that Sir Rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewelcase for her ladyship. ” “You have her face and figure,” he muttered. . You knew me in Paris. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say.
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