’ A derisive snort greeted this passage. 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. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. ” They returned to the crypt.
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