‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. Surely it was a dream. 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 Jack was too well versed in the geography of the place to attempt either of them.
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