Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk. 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. I must tell you all about God’s land, this marvellous virgin country, with its silent forests and dazzling peaks. Always remember that.
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