Just as Hogarth got to the door, the turnkey stopped him. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. 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 thought of her kill. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. Open it.
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