It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. He then unlocked a cabinet, opened a secret drawer, and, lifter ransacking its contents, discovered a paper he was in search of, and a glove. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. She was furiously angry. Martha had been more to her than that. Of course, there'll be a few kinks to straighten out. 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. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him.
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