“Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. 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. . “Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of your objection, you know. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. ’ A reluctant laugh escaped him.
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