He stopped abruptly before the apparently incurious Chinaman. 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. “I had a dream in the night,” she said. He was pretty successful in Manchester,—a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected.
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