” “Lydia Languish, for example. 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. ‘She wouldn’t tell me. How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it. Ed. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. ” Her mind went back to that treaty.
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