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. The response of her body was enough that she lazily opened her eyes. On the envelope was written— Sydney Courtlaw, Esq. Then suddenly, in front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting face. “It was perhaps my fault. Come, make yourself scarce.
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