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 feel I have, dear Winny!" replied Thames, abashed at his own rudeness; "my conduct is inexcusable. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. "Why, what the devil would you have had me do!—make myself scarce, eh? You should have tipped me the wink. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry.
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