Again the little dog was anxious. He pushed against her dress and got his head under her hand. He felt the movement of her fingers caressing him and was faintly aware, back in his little dog’s mind, that his presence comforted her. He hated to hear her cry, yet she was crying. He whined softly. Then, suddenly, from far down at the foot of the stairs, his quick ear caught the thud which proclaimed the arrival of the afternoon paper. He always went for it, making a ceremony of it when he came back, holding it in his …
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