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. His eyes never left her face. In another instant, the collision took place. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer.
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