’ Your name alone would fill any music hall in London. 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. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. ’ ‘Undoubtedly,’ Gerald agreed.
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