’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. 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. E. “I too am asked. I forget.
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