And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. We have lived under the same roof, but our ways seem to have lain wide apart. Ennison’s manner was certainly not one of a willing host. That is why Wall Street broke your father; he was honest. The latter took from his pocket a small note-book and pencil. 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. “I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days. There’s something about you, a little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel—good luck about you and success. The Iron Bar.
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