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. But there must be an Englishman who would like to marry her to get Remenham House. He laughed lightly. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. Eh bien, they would see about this. And not on Melusine’s account, but to see Prudence, who had no use for a cavalier.
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