I should have thought my note cleared up everything. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. Man's fate is in his own hands. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. 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. “Will you be moral and your species, or immoral and yourself? We’ve decided to be immoral.
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