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. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. " "Take care you don't fall into it yourself," returned Jackson, with a slight sneer. ” She laughed at him easily and mirthfully. Could you give me any references?” “There is Mr. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still.
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