She let out a wail. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. "A bad business this, Van," observed Baptist, with a prolonged shake of the head. 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’ll make it, miss. I want to give myself to you. “You’ve got my view,” he said, after a pensive second.
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