Stanley regarded his neighbor’s clean-shaven face almost warily. Shakily, she rose with the sword and drove it through Rhea’s heart. She wished she could steal his smiles and keep them in a box, they had always been so precious. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. I loved her so much. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. However, it doesn't much signify. They are not your flowers.
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