G. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. 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. Pig and brute! Yet calling him hard names would not help her. Do not underestimate my power. He's passed through some rough mental torture. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice.
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