“Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. 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. But the clearly definite thing was the ultimate escape. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. She thought of Capes.
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