The sword, Jacques. Ruth went on to explain. ‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Hilary, watching the Frenchman go by with the lad after him. 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. ‘Aye, sir. It was the only way to make the monthly bills. Come, make yourself scarce.
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