For each costume she had devised a suitable form of matrimonial refusal. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. . 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. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time.
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