She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered. 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.
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