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. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. “It may not be just and so forth, but, after all, it is how things are. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. “Rubbish!” he answered. "In Canton.
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