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. The operation was effected with so much rapidity and so little noise, that even if any one had been on the alert, he could scarcely have detected it. Bounding the corner of a garden wall, he came upon his former place of imprisonment. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant.
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