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144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. 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. Ramage came for her at her lodgings, and she met him graciously and kindly as a queen who knows she must needs give sorrow to a faithful liege. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. “You’re still,” he said, “in the educational years.
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