I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. 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. "So I have," replied Hogarth, glancing at Sheppard. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open.
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