It’s gone. 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. But, whether she likes it or not, I aim to be on hand to get her out of it. ’ The lad Kimble moved swiftly to the door and walked out of the room.
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