Sixes and Sevens

“Come on, there, you mangy, turtle backed, snake headed, bench legged ton and a half of soap grease!” shouted the dogman, with a new note in his voice and a new hand on the leash. The dog scrambled after them, with an angry whine at such unusual language from his guardian. At the foot of Twenty third Street the dogman led the way through swinging doors.

 

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