Thus, more and more Ruth turned to the mongrel dog who bore the name of Rollo unflinchingly—the dog that adored her openly, shamelessly, who now without a whimper took his diurnal tubbing. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. ‘Jacques?’ ‘No.
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