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. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. Here I am as an alternative either to nasty workâor going home. Master, your humble servant. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man.
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