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. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. W," said Mr. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true.
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