The parlour was cluttered but cosy. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke. " "By the name of The Tigress?" The doctor smiled, but shook his head. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. But when Ruth's hand fell gently upon his bony head, he knew that no one in this house would ever offer him a kick. This was just what he needed.
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