If Ray left the house, it would be easy. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. She shrugged her shoulders. 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 gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. Give this fellow the slip, if you can, Jack.
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