“We have left our slippers and balled-up stockings under a bush. When the mud gets too deep, Molly said we should turn back, but the blackberries are turning and will be gone soon, shriveled up or pecked away by birds. And I want them. So I nagged and pulled at her dress and called her boring and begged until she came too. It is always me who pulls us into trouble, one way or another.”
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