” “Many other people,” she remarked, “have made the same mistake. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. Cathy had not even noticed that she herself was wet and trailing water everywhere. She caught at the idea. 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. Inside was the blue stone she had lost in the 1800’s. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study. The little matter of an accent may be misleading, I grant you, but —’ He was interrupted, and with impatience. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one.
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