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\"I'm sixteen, I'm a junior like you. 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. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. " "Well, so long as he gets on his feet in the end. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him.
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