Sheppard put out her arms mechanically. ‘Champion?’ ‘The lad you saw following her. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. 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. ” “Very well,” he said. “You are one of those who must know all about it.
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