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 lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. “Been and married?. ’ ‘Exactly so. “Are you sick, Michelle? Maybe you should have stayed home. But she was not to be tempted. “I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea.
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