Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. 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. ‘But I do not pay this penalty. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. ‘Her purpose, if you will believe me, is to get herself a dowry so that she may marry an Englishman. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. .
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