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. ‘It’s a pretty name. But with the morning, the glorious unstained morning the passion of living would stir even the blood of a clod. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. He was not able to recognize, as the doctor did, that she was only a natural woman.
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