This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. “I must live, you know. It was hard to gain weight when you hated to eat. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. ” She took the blue box from her hoodie and held it towards him. “Yes. She opened her eyes. 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. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment.
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