First-off, he had decided not to tell her what he had found at the bottom of that manila envelope. “I’ve been through all that,” she went on, after a pause. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. 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 said through a closed mouth.
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