"And who taught it you—the landlord, Joe Hind?" "No; one Blueskin, a fellow who frequents the Lion," answered Jack, with a degree of candour that astonished his master nearly as much as his confidence. 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. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. ” “I don’t understand. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube.
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