I must go and dress at once. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. 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. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed.
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