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. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. Too late. "I wouldn't force him for the world: but if he don't tip the stivers, may I be cursed if he don't get a taste of the aqua pompaginis. But the love of life prevailed over his fears. Truth to tell, more damage had been done in the enthusiastic chase carried out by the militiamen detailed to catch it. ’ She spoke with difficulty, holding down the rising emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. God had never answered any of her prayers.
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