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. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. "Two hundred pounds, if he's lodged in Newgate before to-morrow morning," continued Wild. "Ruth?" he called. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. ‘Hollow.
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