The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. 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. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. Others who have done, have found you false. "To me?" gasped Winifred. I had not seen the courtyard in many years and I was happy to dream of those times. They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon.
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