Not even for Ruth could he do such a beastly thing. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. 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. “It’s odd,” said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat.
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