” “To bad rubbish. What was the wench at? Yet he could not maintain this stand off forever. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. The mere fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow passengers would hear it. But it was only six-thirty. 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. Oh dear!—oh dear! Be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again.
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