“The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden. ” Michelle looked puzzled. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. 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. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance.
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