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. ‘Don’t want it to break out bleeding again. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. ‘For that I shall certainly not leave until you have told me every tiny detail.
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