But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. 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. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus.
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