’ ‘Well, I do now,’ Lucilla said firmly, and turned back to Melusine. 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 drew a long breath. Only I do not care to write about anything else. Just beyond there would be her heart's desire.
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