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. ’ ‘And why are you not married,’ she demanded suddenly, ‘if it is that you have land?’ Gerald grimaced. ‘What do you mean to do with her?’ ‘Just keep her talking, that’s all,’ Gerald said quickly. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. But if that can possibly be done I want it to be done. “But if you had?” she said. He raised her to a sitting position. Dinner was served at 5:30. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare.
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