She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. “A bad thing for me when that legacy came. 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. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. “I didn’t blow up the house. Again, he would ask a few questions, and Ruth would answer them. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him.
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