Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest. 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. ” “All these things,” he muttered bitterly, “this desperate resolve to take your life into your own hands, your unnatural craving for independence, would never trouble you for a moment—if you really cared. ’ ‘Couldn’t help but do so, ma’am,’ said Mrs Ibstock. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in.
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