" "Mr. " "Death and fiends!" exclaimed Jack; "the old thief is there. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine. They are not your children, they never were. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. “It’s the spring,” he said. “Impossible to say,” he answered. 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. "Don't swear, Jack, or I shall distrust you.
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