The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity. 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 was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now.
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