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Updated: June 26, 2025
She had two subjects in her mind; she would work at home, and Taranne had promised to come and advise her. Then she would have no time for handsome English boys. But till then? She took an anemone from a bunch David had brought her, and began to pluck off the petals, alternating 'yes' and 'no. The last petal fell to 'yes.
And it was this petal, perhaps, that brought the darkness, for, as it sank, it grew vast and spread until it covered the entire sky. Like a fairy silken sheet of softest coloured velvet it lay on everything, as though the heavens lowered and folded over them. They felt it press softly on their faces. A curtain, it seemed some one had let the curtain down.
She cupped her round chin in her hands and studied herself with a desire to be sure of the truth without prejudice or self conceit. The whole effect of her was glowing, and she felt the glow as others did. She put up a finger to touch the velvet petal texture of her skin, and she saw how prettily pointed and slim her hand was.
The magnolia petal was about the size of Mother's best turkey-platter, and as white and fragrant as the magnolias at home. And the pat of butter was about as large as a veal loaf. Of course it did not look in the least like a veal loaf; it looked exactly like butter a delectable, golden yellow, and all dewy-looking, as it used to come out of the spring-house at Grandmother's.
"No! No! No! No! No!" cried the butterfly with great and unconvincing fervor. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing?" "On the circumstantial evidence of a pink rose petal. But worse is coming. The charge is unprovoked and willful murder." Butterflies are strange creatures. This one seemed far less concerned over the latter than the former accusation. "Of whom?" she inquired.
And then a hand soft as a falling petal touched his brow. Bending over him was the woman clothed like the princess of old, with blue eyes, now soft and humid with human sympathy. Under his head on the pavement were silks and furs.
For a moment she seemed to forget him, then quietly "I thank you, I am very grateful." She opened the book and, plucking a petal from the rose, dropped it between the leaves. Then looking up she said gently, "I cannot accept."
But into a great pink flower that was horrible and lovely grew the soul of La Traviata; and it had in it two eyes but no eyelids, and it stared constantly into the faces of all the passers-by that went along the dusty road to Hell; and the flower grew in the glare of the lights of Hell, and withered but could not die; only, one petal turned back towards the heavenly hills as an ivy leaf turns outwards to the day, and in the soft and silvery light of Paradise it withered not nor faded, but heard at times the commune of the saints coming murmuring from the distance, and sometimes caught the scent of orchards wafted from the heavenly hills, and felt a faint breeze cool it every evening at the hour when the saints to Heaven's edge went forth to bless the dead.
I am almost compelled to note in passing that the beauty of these delicate and minute objects must not be considered an end a purpose in nature. It is not so. The form is what it is because it must be so to serve the end for which the egg is formed. There is not a superfluous spine, not a useless petal in the floral egg, not an unneeded line of chasing in the decorated shell.
"And when you come back bring a hundred new World Stories with you!" Eric laughed too, and promised and stood on tiptoes to kiss her again. He stroked her short flower petal hair, and kissed her cool brown cheek over and over. But he did not cling to her. And he did not say another word, but ran to catch up with Ivra who was to walk with him until noon and had gone on ahead.
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