" "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. “For my own part I have come fully now into my inheritance. \"Really. “Before you do anything else I should advise you to secure those charred fragments of paper from the grate. ” He said. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. 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 hoped for a family like the Becks and I waded through the system until I got them, so maybe life isn’t so damn hopeless after all.
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