“Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. 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 arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. Indeed, I've heard him say that, but for his wife, he would shelter her under his own roof.
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