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. ‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room.
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