She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. 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. “Oh, yes, that’s right, we go to school. Earles?” he inquired. Do you think I would marry you? Rather would I marry the pig in the convent. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. Are you prepared to do it?” Her hands clenched. After fifteen years, to find that peculiarly Occidental attribute—college loyalty—still alive in his heart! A Western idea that had survived; an idea that was merely the flower of youthful enthusiasm! With his hands still in his sleeves, his chin down in speculation over this phenomenon, he continued his patrol. Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew.
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