“And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. 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 hope I may never come near her. It’s no half reform either. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest.
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