"That's your hunting ground," said the doctor. I want to but I cannot! Please accept that!” She yelled. "Oho!" he said. O'Higgins followed him into the dining room. He was a philosopher. 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. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room.
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