Her heartbeat quickened. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. " "They may find me. 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. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. For a moment she remained silent. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. It slipped out—as did that “she”. Her voice was weak and flat.
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