Perhaps she was. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. He hung round those broad waters from noon until three and realized that he had embarked upon a wild-goose chase. Damn! I’ve splashed. ‘Well?’ she said. We may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser.
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