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. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan. He fixed it. Gone off, cool as you please, and left me to manage everything. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me.
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