The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. 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. ” As Lucy got up to fetch Michelle a box of tissue, her mind spun wildly. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same.
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