"Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. But this calm was more awful than the previous roaring of the blast. Wily little devil she is. Told you how it would be. 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.
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