” She said. “Will you be moral and your species, or immoral and yourself? We’ve decided to be immoral. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. 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 isn’t quite that we’re toys. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. .
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