The newcomer stopped short upon the threshold. "A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Shotbolt. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. 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. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror.
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