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. “You are quite right, I think. ” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him.
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