‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. . Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist. 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. So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed.
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