” She controlled a sob. 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 kindly American consul-general had himself taken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for a letter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. ‘And so also have I. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly.
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