‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. ’ ‘I’m afraid you are right. 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 leaned forward to better drink her in. “No, I am alone,” she answered. “I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct. This is not the conduct of a jeune demoiselle. Lucy? Come 177 on out.
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