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. This she put into the trunk. “Mike’s an idiot and we both know it, Lucy! I can’t stand him!” “Did you two have a fight? Are you breaking up?” Lucy said worriedly.
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