Practice Typing
White Fang - London, Jack ยท 64 words
Weedon Scott did not hear. He was squatting down on his heels, face to face with White Fang and petting him rubbing at the roots of the ears, making long caressing strokes down the neck to the shoulders, tapping the spine gently with the balls of his fingers. And White Fang was growling responsively, the crooning note of the growl more pronounced than ever.
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