"Darrell's job was done early this morning," he said; "and if I'd attended to his advice, the packing-case would have been finished at the same time. It had a tiny flaw, most bizarre. 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. "What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford. “That sounds interesting. Not up here, I think.
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