“As my lady wills. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. "Souls," she answered, drily. “It’s okay. 1. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. 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.
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