” She looked away from him. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. Stanley poured wine. 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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