That is quite as far as I mean to tempt Providence to-night. 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. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. Befuddle yourself, if you want to.
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