Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities. 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. ‘How much does he know?’ Without waiting for a reply, she turned narrowed eyes on Gerald. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song.
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