She did not want to go to the doctor's people; however kindly that might be, they would be only curious strangers. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. 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. Denis, did you say? I hope that no one of our friends has met with an accident.
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