"Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. ” She finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with the letters still in her hand. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. 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. CHAPTER XVI.
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