They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. She picked up the hand cannon. 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. I was in the front row, and I fancied she smiled at me.
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