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As the days passed, she tried to rouse Magda from the apathy into which she seemed to have fallen, but without success. "It's no use, Gillyflower," she would reply with a weary little smile. "There is no way out. Do you remember I once said I was too happy for it to last? It was quite true. . . . Have you told Marraine?" she asked suddenly. "Yes. And she wants to see you."
But to each and all Magda had only answered: "I know it's the only thing for me to do. It probably wouldn't be for you, or for anyone else. But it is for me. So you must let me go, Gillyflower." Gillian dreaded the morrow with its inevitable moment of farewell.
The gillyflower is another flower frequently mentioned. This name has been applied to various flowers, but originally it belonged to the carnation, and was used for such in Shakespeare’s time. In the Roman de la Rose it is called the gillyflower-clove, thus definitely defining it.
But by the beginning of the seventeenth century that odoriferous pistil had been the cause of so many pitched battles and obstinate wars, of so much vituperation, negotiation, and intriguing, that the world's destiny seemed to have almost become dependent upon the growth of a particular gillyflower.
But by the beginning of the seventeenth century that odoriferous pistil had been the cause of so many pitched battles and obstinate wars, of so much vituperation, negotiation, and intriguing, that the world's destiny seemed to have almost become dependent upon the growth of a particular gillyflower.
"Not of course at all!" replied Francie, who used a particularly expensive essence of gillyflower herself. "I can't think what we are about," said Aunt Juley, raising her hands, "talking of such things!" "Was she divorced?" asked Imogen from the door. "Certainly not," cried Aunt Juley; "that is certainly not." A sound was heard over by the far door. Timothy had re-entered the back drawing-room.
There are the dogs eating Jezebel, and such a jolly picture of the lion killing the prophet. I do want to see them! Varley told me! 'And Kitty told me, added Valetta. 'She is reading such a book to them. It is called The Beautiful Face, and is all about two children in a wood, and a horrid old grandmother and a dear old hermit, and a wicked baron in a castle! Do let us go, Gillyflower.
Over the green carpet trembled flower clusters, light as down, on bending stems, and between the long, narrow leaves could he seen the half-opened blossoms of the red gillyflower. It was only a little spot, and over it spread the gnarled, red-brown branches of the lofty pines, with bunches of close-growing needles.
But by the beginning of the seventeenth century that odoriferous pistil had been the cause of so many pitched battles and obstinate wars, of so much vituperation, negotiation, and intriguing, that the world's destiny seemed to have almost become dependent upon the growth of a particular gillyflower.
The swaar has one look, the rambo another, the spy another. The youth recognizes the seek-no-further, buried beneath a dozen other varieties, the moment he catches a glance of its eye, or the bonny-cheeked Newtown pippin, or the gentle but sharp-nosed gillyflower.
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