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. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. That is what stands between us, if you would know—that. “No, I am alone,” she answered.
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