"Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. What are you after?’ ‘But my pistol and dagger, imbecile,’ she exclaimed impatiently, moving sharply back. “Or I wouldn’t have said anything about it. ’ At last. It’s Italian. I'll be feeling fine in no time. ’ Gerald suppressed a grin. 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. If and when Ray was ever found, she would be long gone and they would be unable to explain what had happened to him.
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