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He was a philosopher. “Bother!” and decided that this was not so, and would not look to right or left again. 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. "How so?" asked Wild, curiously. They did not want her. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. “Bother it all!” she swore. . He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate.
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