"Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. “Of course you don’t. " "Thank'ee,—thank'ee. Austin," continued the tapstress; "he's only going on an errand. 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.
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