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. Then for a time she sat very still. " "But, goodness me, the hotel will take care of him! Why not? They sold him the poison. ” There was never any shortage of bad men to eat, especially with pestilence and superstition to cover their tracks. " The Wastrel laughed.
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