The spring can't be opened on this side. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. He dissected rather awkwardly and hurriedly, but, on the whole, effectively, and drew with an impatient directness that made up in significance what it lacked in precision. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. 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. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible.
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