" "Help me through at all hazards, Poll," cried Jack, straining towards the opening. ” “My Mom complains that she’s tired all the time. The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. She could feel her face turning beet red. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. Her favor was sought beyond all women’s favors. He would have to make sure of her silence. I am a little afraid. . ” He plunged into one of his drawers, and brought up a small gold-foiled bottle. “Hospital? What for? What’s the matter with me?” Courtlaw’s voice sank to a whisper. 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. Jack fell on his knees beside her.
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