But in that reservation it may be she went a little beyond the converse of his view. That was an admission all right. ” “And no one else—has a key?” “I believe,” she said, “that that man must have one. 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 unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. He walked across the Park and called upon his sister. He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not. You simply can’t. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards.
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