One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. E. “So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled. 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.
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