While he was swinging in mid air, Thames regarded his uncle with a stern look, and cried in a menacing voice, "We shall meet again. ‘Never mind that now. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he were reared in the Vatican. ” She shivered. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. 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.
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