There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. “I thought I saw her in town to-day,” he said. “This is much the cheapest place I know of where things are moderately clean, and I should hate rooms all by myself. “You, too,” he said abruptly. "I give you one minute for reflection. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. Now drop it. 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.
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