E. Nesbit,
Lucy
(1909)
“ Perhaps even mamma would not love him any more when she knew that. Peter, an old man now, sitting musing with the first diary in his hand, could draw you the plan of that garden, and tell you what flowers grew where—indicate the exact whereabouts and number of the old seakale pots that the snails loved to hide in—distinguish the taste of the different petals, of the vine-leaves, and of the unripe grapes, for, compared with "murder almost," stealing soon grew to seem nothing much, one way or the other. And eating is the first distraction that suggests itself to a child's boredom. ”
