Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. He was beginning to think about her inordinately. 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. Luck. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. " "Help! help!" shrieked Mrs.
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