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. ‘Not here. Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die brokenhearted. The lady grasped it more firmly and turned it upon Hilary. As for me, I look twice at it. They almost made me feel like they were mine. I can bear anything but suspense.
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