Ennison with my sister last night. 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. "Take a drop of brandy before we start, watchman," said Wood, pouring out a glass of spirit, and presenting it to Terence, who smacked his lips as he disposed of it. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. Their flitting hands were always touching.
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