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Most of all she enjoyed the gentle gratitude of her foster family members, even the teasing 7 of Mike, her foster brother, who liked to play food critic to give her a hard time. 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. He really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. ‘Certainly I have them with me.
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