She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. 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. ‘But what way, Emile?’ ‘Your family, mademoiselle, the family of your father. Ruth did not consider it necessary, however, to add that she had not notified this aunt of her coming, that she did not know whether the aunt still resided in Hartford or was underground.
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