He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. 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. .
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