“Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know. ” He contradicted himself by plunging into an exposition of motifs. 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. You would want me to be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is.
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