Oui, dans la note. “Am I dull?” she said. I may say she does not sound in the least like Mary,’ said Mrs Sindlesham bluntly. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. 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. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. But I liked to say it. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. Mr.
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