” He said. 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. Killed is too kind a word. " "Killed someone?" O'Higgins laughed. ” “You came—here!” he repeated, vaguely. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. "I'll place it to your account, Sir Rowland," answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. . .
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