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Then a ride to London on horseback. The coconut plantation covered the west side. 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. “Katy Pfister. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. ’ He bowed. . He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. He stood away from her. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles.
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