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. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. Petite build, like herself. ‘I lived with the Valades for some years. Nobody toys with me. "Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand.
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