" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. 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. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address.
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