The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. Before the first month was gone, McClintock admitted that the boy was a find. 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. .
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