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. And the change, the change of attitude! The way all the old clingingness has been thrown aside is amazing. Let us stay the night here. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. But this modern miasma—” Mr.
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