THIS, this glissade, would be damned scoundrelism. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. " "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. 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. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind.
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