Predictably, Charvill turned on him. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. 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. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. It was clear by the look on her face that she decided to leave the house immediately.
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