She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. She was strong, not unlike a pack mule or a camel; she thought to herself and smirked. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. 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. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. ‘Parbleu, do you think he will run away? He has a bullet inside him, and it must be taken out.
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