He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. "Oh, Rollo, there are so many things I don't know! But you love me, don't you?" Rollo wagged his stump violently and tried to lick her face. He is in Newgate. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. CHAPTER XXVII.
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