To her satisfaction, the captain reddened a trifle. The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. 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 will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast.
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