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. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind. Not if I read her aright.
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