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. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. I take their life. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly.
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