If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. “Yeah. Both McCloskeys disappeared on the same night, without a single trace. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. 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. The inn was a military haunt. .
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