"Oh, Rollo, there are so many things I don't know! But you love me, don't you?" Rollo wagged his stump violently and tried to lick her face. ” She said. "That's for Mrs. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. That there would eventually be a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal and literary. No, not one little bit.
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