The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. Maybe later. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. " The little urchin set off, and presently returned with the sexton. But, when? When do they go?’ ‘Today, miss. And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. It is an Occidental point of view. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell.
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