" The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. “No I’m not, John. Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away. 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. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable.
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