She had no idea what she should do. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. 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. Mr.
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