Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. Prison was beastly. “Let us escape,” she said. Sir John hesitated, and then continued. 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 knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated.
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