He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. 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. ’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. It slipped out—as did that “she”. If I'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me.
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