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. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. But a woman’s life is all chance. “Is there any urgency?” The doctor bent over his patient, who seemed to have fallen asleep.
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