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Chapter 17

           Indeedshehadbeenkeepingguardoverthedishoffruit(withoutrealisingit)jealously,hopingthatnobodywouldtouchit.Hereyeshadbeengoinginandoutamongthecurvesandshadowsofthefruit,amongtherichpurplesofthelowlandgrapes,thenoverthehornyridgeoftheshell,puttingayellowagainstapurple,acurvedshapeagainstaroundshape,withoutknowingwhyshedidit,orwhy,everytimeshedidit,shefeltmoreandmoreserene;until,oh,whatapitythattheyshoulddoitahandreachedout,tookapear,andspoiltthewholething.InsympathyshelookedatRose.ShelookedatRosesittingbetweenJasperandPrue.Howoddthatone’schildshoulddothat!

           Howoddtoseethemsittingthere,inarow,herchildren,Jasper,Rose,Prue,Andrew,almostsilent,butwithsomejokeoftheirowngoingon,sheguessed,fromthetwitchingattheirlips.Itwassomethingquiteapartfromeverythingelse,somethingtheywerehoardinguptolaughoverintheirownroom.Itwasnotabouttheirfather,shehoped.No,shethoughtnot.Whatwasit,shewondered,sadlyrather,foritseemedtoherthattheywouldlaughwhenshewasnotthere.Therewasallthathoardedbehindthoseratherset,still,mask-likefaces,fortheydidnotjoinineasily;theywerelikewatchers,surveyors,alittleraisedorsetapartfromthegrown-uppeople.ButwhenshelookedatPruetonight,shesawthatthiswasnotnowquitetrueofher.Shewasjustbeginning,justmoving,justdescending.

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