His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. ‘Did she call you that?’ asked Lucilla, amused. 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. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. " "Enough," returned Jackson, extending his hand; "and if I've expressed myself warmly, I'm sorry for it likewise.
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