“What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. 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. ’ Trodger eyed her with suspicion. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended.
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