“I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. 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. A single glance served to show the thief-taker how matters stood. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. But at the word “home” she turned again. "Most persons would have guessed my meaning. He waved to her.
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