But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. 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. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. You say you need a man.
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