By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell. 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. “Well, you certainly did very well at tea,” she remarked. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. She opened her eyes.
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