A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. “Because I hate you!” She spat. We did not know where to send … in case you died. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. “This is what comes of being a young woman up to date. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault.
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