“Well?” she said. ” She breathed relief. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. ” Annabel laughed derisively and took up her book. 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. Howsomdever, if you should reach t'other side, take an old feller's advice, and don't be foolhardy enough to venter back again. “Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, uncomfortable pause.
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