Stop it. ‘We?’ Gerald smiled. “If they matter to you, they matter. “Rubbish!” he answered. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. 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. ‘Thanks to him, Hilary and I nearly had our heads blown off.
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