"That's one on you! The
madam, here, sees your brand new togs and thinks you tickle the green
cloth for a livin'."
"It is monsieur's toilette zat 'ave cause ze mistake. I have now better
observe he's face. He is welcome."
"Don't think your friend can sit in, though," observed Champer-down,
grinning broadly.
Anthony turned. The donkey had followed him in, and was standing just
behind his chair, head hanging, ears lopping, lethargic patience showing
in every contour of his shaggy body.
"I have consorted with many of his kind," said Anthony, smiling, "and I
prefer his frank sincerity, his bravery under stress, his worldly poise,
his calm exterior, which does conceal the fiery depths of his nature; in
fact, all his so-called animal attributes I prefer, to the more
sophisticated allure of his human gender." Anthony laid a strong hand on
the little beast's shoulder, while the French woman regarded him
curiously out of long black eyes.
"There, take that, you good for nothing cur," and a man kicked a dog in
through the door, to lie in a twisted, bloody heap upon the floor.
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