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. "Well, I will see him," replied the knight, after a moment's pause; "he may be from the Earl of Mar. "In Heaven's name! what's all this?" cried Wood. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo.
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