“Yes, I remember,” she said. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. Another picture slid across her vision. "Good work. 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. Spurlock has gone. They lived in a castle, the same place she had been turned in.
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