“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. How the deuce, though, am I going to account for her? People will be asking questions when they see her; and if I tell the truth, they'll start to snubbing 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. " "What the devil's in the wind now, Captain?" cried Blueskin, in astonishment. Every one has to make a deal with the world.
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