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. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly. My Great Grandma 39 LeFevre had fourteen children, and my Papa said that she started at the age of thirteen. I'm not noble; so my honourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves. Admire her as much as you choose—at a distance.
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