“I have not left this apartment myself. 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. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. A pretty name for a pretty girl. "Yes," answered the girl. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised.
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