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. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast. As to Mr. Someday I'll take you down there and have them rig up the coconut dance for you.
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