. . Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. There were moments when Ann Veronica rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, showing off at her. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. 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.
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