The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. 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. "No matter," replied Sheppard. "Sold again!" "If you don't get back quickly, Lucy," observed a bystander, "Jack Sheppard will be in the house before you.
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