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. I’m sick of this town and I can’t wait to get out. She thrashed and screamed as he wrestled her back towards the bed.
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