And Anna was conscious of a few moments of exquisite emotion. They were enormously pleased with one another; they found each other beyond measure better than they had expected, if only because of the want of substance in mere expectation. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. You can have no shecrets from me. “Then—then we can talk things out. 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. And this is not France, you understand.
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