And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town. “I am much obliged to you,” he said. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. Part 4 Interpretation came pouring down upon her almost blindingly; she understood now the room, the waiter, the whole situation. “Anything is better than this—this stifled life down here. More importantly, she had her wits.
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