“Neither Sydney nor I would think of such a thing. A loud buzz of curiosity circulated among the domestics; some of whom— especially the females—leaned forward to obtain a peep at the culprit. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. 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. "He must have gone this way," muttered Blueskin. Kneebone he's not here.
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