She had nothing to say for herself. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. He had already shown the covering envelope and its instructions to Ruth, and she had ignored or misunderstood the warning. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. “A volatile temperament—yes, a volatile temperament,” Mr. I had a perfect shoal of callers.
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