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. I deserve pretty much what I’ve got. The Night-Cellar. The crowd dispersed in different directions, and most fortunately a heavy shower coming on, put them altogether to flight. Saint Giles's Round-house.
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