"Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. 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. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below.
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