She went to her own table and sat down. 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. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. "Here, take this and get the letter and open and read it. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. Wood grasped his companion's arm to attract his attention to this unexpected means of escape. "What for?" demanded Wood. Also she made little pussy-like sounds of a reassuring nature. \"Where have you been, young lady?\" Mike crooned, a large grin on his fat Irish face. "I can't make you understand; I can't make you see things as I see them. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight.
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