He was there concealed, waiting her return. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. 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. I have a new cult to teach, a new enthusiasm. For Manning it would be a more temperate love altogether.
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