Hunted out of existence, maimed, frozen, the victims of cruelty and injustice - she loved her roses (the only flower she could bear to see cut.) They were an offering.
She went to France to save an England which consisted almost entirely of Shakespeare's plays and Miss ---- ----- in a green dress walking in a square.
The war had taught her. She was right there. The last shells missed her, and now the dead were buried. (She kept the pen and told the story.)
She was cold as an icicle. But, a frail quivering sound, a voice bubbling up without direct, vigour, beginning or end, running weakly and shrilly interrupted her.
The battered woman - for she wore a skirt - with her right hand exposed, her left clutching at her side, stood singing of love (of despair, the giant mourner) of her lover, who had been dead these centures, had walked, she crooned, with her in May.
so rude a mouth.
She caught the battered woman by her arm. "give me your hand and let me press it gently." "and if some one should see, what matter they?"
passing a stone urn with flowers in it, she (the voice of an ancient spring) stopped; picked a flower; kissed her on the lips.
The whole world might have turned upside down!
The others disappeared; there she was alone. And she felt that she had been given a present, wrapped up, and told just to keep it, not to look at it - a diamond, something infinitely precious, wrapped up - the revelation!
the religious feeling! the purity, the integrity of it.
She (who loved roses; the battered woman) was completely reckess; did the most idiotic things out of bravado; bicycled round the parapet on the terrace; smoked cigars. Absurd, she was - very absurd.
It was all over for her. The sheet was stretched and the bed narrow. She had gone up into the tower alone and left them blackberrying in the sun. She heard the names of the stars. "and if some one should see, what matter they?"
FILL: TEAM DAVE<3ROSE<3TEREZI
Hunted out of existence, maimed, frozen, the
victims of cruelty and injustice - she loved
her roses (the only flower she could bear
to see cut.) They were an offering.
She went to France to save an England which
consisted almost entirely of Shakespeare's plays
and Miss ---- ----- in a green dress walking
in a square.
The war had taught her. She was right there.
The last shells missed her, and now the dead were buried.
(She kept the pen and told the story.)
She was cold as an icicle. But, a frail
quivering sound, a voice bubbling up without
direct, vigour, beginning or end, running
weakly and shrilly interrupted her.
The battered woman - for she wore a skirt -
with her right hand exposed, her left
clutching at her side, stood singing of love (of
despair, the giant mourner) of her lover, who
had been dead these centures, had walked, she
crooned, with her in May.
so rude a mouth.
She caught the battered woman by her arm.
"give me your hand and let me press it gently."
"and if some one should see, what matter they?"
passing a stone urn with flowers in it, she
(the voice of an ancient spring) stopped;
picked a flower; kissed her on the lips.
The whole world might have turned upside down!
The others disappeared; there she was alone.
And she felt that she had been given a present,
wrapped up, and told just to keep it, not to
look at it - a diamond, something infinitely
precious, wrapped up - the revelation!
the religious feeling! the purity, the
integrity of it.
She (who loved roses; the battered woman)
was completely reckess; did the most idiotic things
out of bravado; bicycled round the parapet on
the terrace; smoked cigars. Absurd, she was - very absurd.
It was all over for her. The sheet was stretched
and the bed narrow. She had gone up into the tower
alone and left them blackberrying in the sun. She
heard the names of the stars. "and if some one
should see, what matter they?"
(source)