“How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. “How could he call except in your absence, as you are never at home in the afternoon. 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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