Don't ask any more questions. "Do you mean to tell me he's come and gone in an hour? What the devil kind of a father is he?" Spurlock shook his head. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. 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. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought.
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