She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. Her belly was being touched, she felt her thighs caressed softly. She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. From then on he was Ruth's dog.
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