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. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend.
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