The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. Not wisely but too well. " "Six," he corrected. 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. “Of course I’m manager for this expedition,” he said, after an interval of self-examination.
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