The day had become suddenly overcast. 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. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. . Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me.
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